Gara took the elevator with Leif, the small glass-paneled box humming softly as it ascended toward the third floor—the highest in the Red Light Inn. The walls flickered faintly with some ads, and some warnings, all tinted in dull crimson from the inn's eerie aesthetic.
Leif stood silently beside him, arms crossed beneath his black cloak, eyes forward. Gara didn't bother to speak. The blonde had made it pretty clear—"Not until we're in the room." More command than request, really.
The silence wasn't awkward, just... heavy, like the pressure before a storm. Gara passed the time glancing at the decorative symbols carved faintly into the wood-trimmed corners of the elevator. They resembled phoenixes, oddly elegant for a place this shady.
After a few seconds, the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open with a hiss. A narrow hallway stretched before them, lined with red lanterns and faded tapestries. At the very end was a lone black door.
Leif walked ahead without a word. He reached the door, inserted a strange brass key with a purple ribbon attached, and unlocked it with a soft click. Then he pushed the door open and gestured inward with his chin.
Gara, glancing once at the corridor behind him, shrugged and stepped inside.
Leif followed him in silently... and closed the door behind them with a quiet but final thunk.
Once inside, Leif turned and asked, his voice flat but polite, "You want to drink something? Eat something?"
Gara shook his head. "I'm good."
Without saying anything else, Leif crossed the small space and opened a compact fridge tucked beside the kitchen counter. He pulled out a square of chocolate wrapped in silver foil, tore it open with practiced ease, and took a bite.
The apartment Leif had rented in the Red Light Inn was... cramped. And very, very red.
Gara took a slow look around, unsure if it was the lighting or if everything really was that saturated. The walls, the ceiling, even the floor tiles—all tinged in deep crimson. He wouldn't be surprised if the pillows bled if squeezed.
There was a sleek black couch in the living area, facing a small table. Two wooden chairs flanked another small table by the kitchenette. Everything followed an elegant, curved style, with lantern-like lights hanging low and casting dim golden glows. A single closed door probably led to a bedroom, and next to it, a narrow sliding panel door marked the toilet.
The place followed an old-world aesthetic—arched wooden beams, and paper-paneled accents. It was traditional in design, but with a sinister edge, like it was trying too hard to impress someone dangerous.
Gara stayed standing, arms crossed. 'Too much red,' he thought. 'Feels like the walls are judging me.'
Leif took another slow bite of his chocolate, chewed thoughtfully, then finally spoke.
"…You're Gara?"
Gara narrowed his eyes and stared at him, clearly irritated. "Seriously? You invited me here, and you showed Dante a Final Express ticket—and now you're asking if I'm Gara?"
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before motioning toward the door with a sharp gesture. "Also—why'd you pick a fight with the Red Point Gang, huh? You do know this inn is right next to their turf, right?"
"Their leader's an E Ranker. Borrowed Story or not, that guy's dangerous, and he's got enough F Rankers crawling around to form a parade."
Leif simply shrugged. "One of them shoved an old lady. I told him to apologize."
Gara blinked. "That's it?"
"He didn't want to. Then things got noisy."
Gara stared at him in silence. Then muttered, "...You're not right in the head, are you?"
"Why do you say that? Would you have not intervened for the old lady's sake?" Leif asked, genuine surprise in his voice.
The surprise only made Gara more annoyed.
"Of course I wouldn't have," he snapped, crossing his arms. "It's not like they stole from her or killed her. Just a shove. In this town? That barely qualifies as rude." His tone grew sharper. "You think anyone would jump in knowing it was the Red Point Gang behind it?"
Leif tilted his head slightly, blinking, as if he still didn't understand.
He then spoke without hesitation, "I did. And I don't regret it. How can I just stand there and let some stupid idiots shove old ladies around like it's nothing?"
Gara stared at him, unimpressed. Then he sighed, running a hand through his red hair.
Leif shook his head slightly, disappointment plain on his face. "You're not like I expected you to be."
That made Gara's eye twitch. "What's that supposed to mean?" he said sharply, voice rising. "What, are you some kind of fan who watched my playthroughs through Fragments or something?"
Leif shook his head at first, then hesitated—and nodded.
Gara blinked. "...What does that mean? Is it a no or a yes?"
Leif looked completely serious as he clarified, "I'm not a fan. But yes, I did watch recordings of you playing through Fragments. In fact, I was watching the latest one earlier today."
Gara raised an eyebrow, still confused, but Leif continued without pause, "I liked how you made friends with the dragon at the end of the [Ice Ninja] one. That was... cool."
Gara stared at him for a moment longer, trying to figure out if he was being made fun of or not. "…You're really weird, man."
Leif frowned faintly. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say."
Gara sighed, rubbing the side of his temple. "Yeah, well, you're still weird."
Leif didn't respond to that. Instead, his crimson eyes locked onto Gara's blue ones. "Do you really want to meet with Marcus at the Town of No Return in two months? To board the Final Express?"
The air shifted slightly, and Gara felt a strange weight in the question. He gazed at Leif cautiously for a few seconds before giving a slow nod. "Yeah. I do."
Gara hesitated for a second before he asked, "Do you really have it? The Ticket I mean?"
Without a word, Leif reached into the inside of his black cloak and drew something out. He held it between two fingers and let it catch the light—a red ticket framed in white, with a tiny illustration of a brown and blue train in the center. A glowing D symbol was etched in the top-right corner.
Gara's breath hitched.
He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing, but he didn't need long to tell. He'd seen pictures of Final Express Tickets before. He'd also studied up on how to spot the real thing—there was a particular kind of energy it radiated, a sort of pressure that fakes could never mimic.
This was it.
The real deal.
'The Final Express Ticket… a D Ranked one at that… Haha.' Gara let out a quiet sigh, the weight of the situation settling in.
He was only an F Ranker. Sure, he was nearing the peak of that rank, but even so, D Rank still felt like a distant mountaintop—one he hadn't even begun to climb.
Marcus, on the other hand, was already a peak E Ranker. After one more month of training, once he exited the [Ice Ninja] Fragment, he'd almost certainly break through and reach D Rank.
But for Gara?
That was where the problem lay.
Still, owning a D Ranked Ticket to the Final Express was an entirely different matter from not owning one at all. Having it in hand gave him leverage. If things didn't work out, he could always try to trade it down—perhaps for an E Ranked ticket, or even an F Ranked one—when the time came.
Otherwise, he'd be forced to enter the [Ticket Hunting] Event, and that… drastically lowered his chances of boarding the Final Express. Even with Marcus's support as a likely D Ranker by then, it would still be a gamble he couldn't afford to take lightly.
Either way, whether he owned a ticket or not, he would still have to participate in the [Ticket Hunting] Event. But from what he'd heard, protecting a ticket was far easier than stealing one.
Gara stared at the ticket once more, then shook his head and lifted his gaze to meet Leif's eyes.
The ticket wasn't his—not yet.
First, he had to guide this blonde-haired stranger through the [Rashanz] Fragment.
And he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.
"Why do you want to enter the [Rashanz] Fragment?" Gara asked, his voice flat and direct.
There was no hesitation in Leif's response. As he calmly tucked the red-and-white ticket back into the inner pocket of his coat, he replied, "To become stronger, of course."
Gara narrowed his eyes slightly. "Elaborate."
Leif turned to face him fully, his expression unreadable. "I want to climb the Mountain of Lightning... and get struck by the Golden Lightning."
Silence.
Gara blinked. Once. Twice.
His entire body went still, mind grinding to a halt as he stared at the blonde-haired young man in front of him. For a moment, he genuinely wondered if he'd misheard.
"Come again?" he asked.
Leif's words echoed in his head: get struck by the Golden Lightning.
Gara wasn't sure what he'd expected—but it wasn't that, that's for sure.
Golden Lightning wasn't some fancy weather effect. It was a force of legend within the [Rashanz] Fragment—a phenomenon so powerful that even seasoned SS Rankers treaded carefully around it. And this guy wanted to willingly walk into it?
'He's insane,' Gara thought, still frozen. 'Absolutely insane.'
Not only was Leif serious about entering the most brutal Fragment Gara had ever encountered, but he also wanted to hurl himself into the one part of it no one dared approach—the Mountain of Lightning.
Gara could feel a headache forming.
"You want to... What?" Gara's voice was a mixture of disbelief and confusion as the words left his mouth. He couldn't hold back his shock any longer, the frustration building up in him. How crazy is this guy?
First, Leif picked a fight with a gang over a push to an old lady. Now, he wanted to walk headfirst into an SS Ranked Fragment to get struck by lightning? In other words, he wanted Gara to guide him to his death.
Gara shook his head, trying to process what he'd just heard. His mind was racing as he looked at the blonde-haired man in front of him, whose face remained strangely calm and determined.
Leif repeated himself as if there had been some misunderstanding, his tone unwavering. "I want to go to the Mountain of Lightning and get struck by the Golden Lightning."
Gara's patience snapped. His face flushed with anger as he responded sharply, "Are you playing dumb or something?"
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, his temper flaring at the sheer absurdity of the situation. This wasn't some reckless stunt or spontaneous decision—Leif was deadly serious, and that made Gara's frustration all the worse.
"You want to enter the [Rashanz] Fragment to get struck by lightning?" Gara's voice was rising now. "Since it's like that, you're most likely not entering to play the Storyline, right? You're entering the actual Fragment... If that's the case, what you need is not a Story Guide, but a Story Guard."
Leif met Gara's gaze evenly, unaffected by his outburst. He shook his head once, his voice calm as ever. "I don't really need a Story Guide. I need you."
Gara froze for a moment, the words hanging heavily in the air between them. His frustration was momentarily replaced by a strange knot in his stomach. Me?
The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into something so reckless. But there it was again—the underlying tension in the air. Leif was determined. And somehow, Gara was the one he was asking for.
Gara's mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything Leif had just said. What did he want with him, exactly? Earlier, Leif had mentioned that he'd watched Gara's Recorded Playthroughs of Fragments, and now here he was offering him a D Ranked Ticket to the Final Express—but the catch was, he didn't even need Gara as a Story Guide. The whole situation was a mess of contradictions.
"Why?" Gara asked, his voice filled with confusion, unable to process it all.
Leif looked at him with an odd calmness, as if the answer was obvious. "It's a long story. I'll explain once we're back. First, dinner."
Gara's expression froze, his entire body tensing as the words settled in. Dinner? That was the last thing on his mind. His veins throbbed in his temples, his fist clenched at his side, ready to explode from the sheer irritation building up inside him.
"What???" Gara stared at Leif for what felt like an eternity, his anger rising like a tide. His thoughts scrambled, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the urge to lash out at the absurdity of the situation. The last thing he wanted to do now was sit down for dinner.
Leif, on the other hand, remained unfazed, seemingly missing the storm brewing in Gara's eyes. "Don't get angry. It's on me, I'll pay," he said casually.
Gara could feel his temper snap as he gritted his teeth, his voice low and strained, "That's... Not... Why I'm angry..."
Leif blinked, genuinely puzzled by Gara's reaction. "Huh? Then what are you getting angry for?"
Gara opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. What is wrong with this guy? How could he be so calm and collected when everything was falling apart around him? The anger was bubbling just beneath the surface, and Gara wasn't sure how much longer he could hold it in.
...
They ended up at a small restaurant tucked along one of the quieter cloud-like streets nearby. The walk there was cloaked in silence—thick, awkward silence. Leif wasn't one for words, that much was obvious by now, and Gara… Gara was trying not to explode.
After everything that had just happened, it was a miracle he hadn't grabbed Leif by the collar and demanded answers right there. Leif had practically told him he wanted to die, offered him a D Ranked Ticket—the most valuable prize Gara had ever laid eyes on—as a reward for helping him reach that death, and then followed it up with, "Let's go eat." Just like that. No explanation. No details. No context.
Gara didn't know whether to scream or laugh.
If there was one thing Gara absolutely hated, it was mysteries. He despised not having answers. Uncertainty made him itch, made his skin crawl. And right now, everything about Leif was uncertainty. Instead of answers, he was given food. Sure, it was good food, probably—but it wasn't clarity. Still, Leif had been generous enough to let him pick whatever he wanted from the menu.
Not that Gara was the greedy type. He wasn't the kind of person to gorge himself just because someone else was footing the bill. So, he ordered something simple and familiar: thin slices of grilled cloud-antelope, tender and lightly smoked over glowing emberstones. The meat shimmered faintly with a silver sheen—common in creatures that grazed on high-altitude fragments—and it came with a small bowl of steamed sky-rice, fluffy and faintly sweet.
Leif, in contrast, ordered something lighter—mostly plant-based. Or rather, cloud-based. His meal was a swirling medley of skyleaf wraps, sunroot crisps, and steamed puffvine petals, all arranged with an almost irritating level of grace.
As they waited for their orders to be prepared, Leif finally opened his mouth—breaking the silence with a quiet, unexpected question.
"Would you really have done nothing if you saw an old lady get pushed?"
Gara raised his head, meeting Leif's gaze across the table. His expression was unreadable for a moment—until he sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
"Yes. I wouldn't have stepped in," he said plainly. "Not because I don't want to help… but because the Red Point Gang has an A Ranker backing them."
He let the weight of those words settle for a moment before continuing, voice steady. "I have Dante on my side, sure. But I'm not going to drag him into pointless street trouble over a shove. That's how you get killed for nothing in places like this."
Leif shook his head slowly, almost with disappointment. "The Gara Aronline I read about wouldn't have done that."
Gara's body locked up like a machine suddenly frozen mid-movement. The name—Aronline—hit him like a blow to the chest. He hadn't heard it spoken aloud in a long time. Very few people even knew it.
His last name was one of his best-kept secrets. It didn't appear on the Blue Trade Records. He had checked more than once, obsessively. Paranoia made sure of that. There was no way a stranger should've known it—especially not someone who'd only met him today.
He stared hard at Leif now, eyes narrowing to slits, his muscles tense and on edge. But Leif just calmly continued, "I know which Fragment you come from. And I know a lot more than that, if you're wondering."
Gara's breath caught for half a second before he forced himself to speak. "How?" he asked, his voice low. "And why are you telling me this now?"
There was no mistaking it—he felt seen through. Not just observed, but exposed.
Leif shook his head lightly, his tone calm as he replied, "Leave it for later. Once we're back in my room. For now, let's focus on the food."
He gave a small nod toward the approaching waiter, who had just returned with their plates—one steaming with roasted cloudbeast meat and the other artfully arranged with cloudleaf rolls and mistroot salad.
Gara said nothing. His anger, still hot seconds ago, began to cool. In its place crept something quieter and more unsettling—confusion… and the first hints of fear.
Leif had spoken his last name like it was nothing. Aronline. He knew about his Original Fragment. Those two facts alone shouldn't have been possible without deep access to hidden records.
And yet here Leif sat—calm, aloof, offering Gara a D Ranked Ticket to the Final Express in exchange for guiding him through the deadly [Rashanz] Fragment, all so he could walk up a cursed mountain and get struck by the Golden Lightning.
Gara stared down at his plate, the food untouched. The more he thought about it, the more his gut twisted. There was no way Leif was just a lone Player with no support. His backing had to be significant—way above normal. It had to be powerful. And not just powerful in raw strength, but in reach, in access.
Much bigger than mine, Gara thought bitterly. He only had Dante to rely on—an A Ranker, sure, but even Dante's influence had its limits. Dante was well-connected in the Grey Rose Organization, true, but he wasn't someone who'd dig up confidential Player records like it was nothing.
Gara sighed and shook his head, trying to clear the spiraling thoughts from his mind. No. Not now. Don't overthink. Eat. Regroup. Think later.
Leif was still just an F Ranker. Same as him. Though from the looks of it… he was already standing at the peak of their rank.
Gara clenched his jaw and picked up his utensils.
What have I gotten myself into?
The food was good, at least, he thought to himself as he chewed slowly, letting the taste settle on his tongue like a fleeting comfort.
He focused on the texture, the heat, the way each bite grounded him. He tried his hardest not to think about everything Leif had mentioned, but it was like trying to ignore smoke in a room filled with fire.
The words lingered. Names, truths, fragments of things he had buried deep—too deep. Things he hadn't spoken aloud, not even to himself. It was too much. Too big. And yet, Leif had spoken of them as if it were all just another step in the story—his story.
Time passed, heavy and silent. The clinking of utensils faded into the background as the two continued their meal without another word. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. It was expectant. Measured. Like the pause between turning a page and discovering what's written on the next.
When they finally finished, Leif placed the payment down with calm finality, even adding a tip without being asked. Gara watched his movements—efficient, practiced, like someone used to taking care of things without fanfare. Then Leif rose and gestured toward the streets with a nod, silently suggesting they return to his room to continue the conversation.
Gara hesitated only a moment before nodding back and rising to follow. His footsteps were quiet, but his thoughts weren't.
The way back was just as quiet as the walk to the restaurant had been earlier. The streets of the White Clouds whispered with the faint mist of cloudstuff drifting lazily through the air, curling around the edges of buildings that seemed plucked from a dream—some shaped from polished stone, others carved from living wood, and even more formed entirely from dense, glowing clouds that shimmered faintly under the district's ethereal light.
Gara walked calmly, his hands in his sleeves, eyes occasionally scanning the mixed crowd of passersby—humans and other species alike, their clothes and colors as varied as the district's architecture. Every now and then, someone would recognize him. A nod. A cheerful wave. A call of his name. Gara returned each greeting with a soft smile or a warm word. It was effortless for him, natural in a way that made it seem like he belonged here.
Leif, cloaked in black and half-shadowed beneath his hood, walked a step behind at first, silent as ever. He noticed the exchanges but said nothing for most of the walk. But the further they went, the more people greeted Gara—too many to ignore.
Finally, Leif spoke, his voice low but edged with curiosity. "How do you know so many people? Almost everyone we pass by greets you."
Gara turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He still wasn't sure what to make of Leif—not entirely. There was something sharp about the young man, something hidden beneath his crimson eyes and smooth movements. But in the end, he answered simply.
"I just talk to people... That's it, really. Help them when they need to move something, or buy something. I tell them some cool stories I know... or listen to theirs."
He paused, then added with a half-shrug, "You know. Socialize with them."
Leif blinked and tilted his head, considering that answer like it was a concept written in a foreign script. He gave a slow nod, then shook his head with a faint scoff. "I could never do that. I don't like too much noise... But it comes in handy, I guess."
"Oh, it does for sure," Gara replied, his expression lighting up a little. "You get coupons, you get the best deals, people step up to defend your name when you're not around. And well... hehe," he chuckled lightly, "more people end up watching my Story in the end, which means more Green Cores for me—and that's always good." He smiled, a little wider this time, the misty glow of the clouds giving his red kimono an almost otherworldly shimmer.
The conversation tapered off after that, the silence that followed landing somewhere between awkward and tolerable. It wasn't hostile—just quiet, like both of them had said everything they needed to for now. The soft patter of footsteps over the semi-solid cloudstone road echoed beneath them, muffled by the ever-present mist that swirled through the White Clouds like a half-forgotten dream.
They kept walking. A few more turns. A few more greetings. Then—of course—trouble found them.
Gara let out a sigh, long and low. He had half-expected something like this. Leif had knocked one of them earlier, and the Red Point Gang was the sort to take things personally, no matter how petty the reason. Still, expecting trouble didn't make facing it any less frustrating.
In front of them, and behind them for good measure, stood a cluster of figures in matching red jackets—bright, gaudy things with patches sewn along the sleeves and shoulders, as if to signal their allegiance to the whole world. Members of the Red Point Gang. Obvious, unashamed, and blocking the path with practiced ease.
Leif halted first, his black cloak swaying slightly as he shifted his weight. Gara followed suit, stopping beside him with a tired glance at the encirclement.
Around them, the usual hum of the street began to fade. Conversations slowed. The crowd sensed the tension and gradually pulled back, forming a loose ring of silent observers. Some of the locals frowned, their gazes darkening with familiar irritation. They knew Gara. They didn't like the gang. But for now, no one stepped in. Not yet.
Others, more opportunistic, opened their Story System Interfaces—recording devices—to capture the moment. They were already preparing to upload it to the Blue Trade Organization's feed. A scuffle between a known local and Red Point Gang members? It would sell. Replays always did, especially if things escalated.
Then there were the wannabe Reciters.
A few stood to the side, eyes glowing faintly as they activated their Borrowed Stories and began muttering half-formed narrative lines under their breath. They struck poses, exaggerated and dramatic, trying to "Recite" the moment as if they had the authority to do so. They didn't.
Real Reciters were a different breed entirely—A Rank and above, chosen by the All Seeing Eye itself. These were just F Rankers with borrowed power and inflated egos, but they treated every tense moment like an audition.
Gara resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
And then, the man of the moment stepped forward.
Crimson red hair—just like Gara's—but paired with sharp golden eyes instead of Gara's calm blue. He wore a red jacket left open, revealing a gleaming gold shirt underneath. He looked young, almost too young to be leading a gang, but in the Story World, appearances meant nothing. Age could stretch across centuries, and power didn't always wear wrinkles.
He moved with confidence, every step measured yet casual, like he already owned the outcome. His gaze landed on both of them, but it lingered on Gara—the familiarity clear in his eyes.
A grin spread across his face as the air around them fell into silence. The onlookers leaned in, the scene crackling with anticipation.
"Gara, oh Gara! How I've missed you. It's been a bit since we crossed paths, right?"
—End of Chapter.
-------
Ancient Text between two future friends:
Gara: Leif Leif Leif!!! Guess what? I got 3 coupons and a steamed bun today, I'M WINNING!!!
Leif: You also tripped on air and dropped the bun.
Gara: IT WAS A POWERFUL WIND OKAY, and besides I ate half before it flew off. Still counts!!!
Leif: Aronline logic.
Gara: HEY don't bring my last name into this!!! How do you even know about it though?
Leif: I know. I'm the one who sees through the act, remember?
Gara: ...Ugh, why you gotta sound so cool all the time? Can't you just say "You're doing great buddy" like a normal person?
Leif: You're doing great, Aronline. Now go trip again so I can laugh.
Gara: You're the worst, (also most likely gonna become my best friend in the future, shuush it's not a spoiler I promise, well... I take it back it's a full-on spoiler but so what?).