The afternoon sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Maxwell Corporation's West Wing, stretching long shadows across the polished marble. Neville pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the motion sharp and irritable. He was trying to focus on the mountain of files threatening to bury him with work.
Seriously, what is this guy's problem?
Neville thought irritably, stealing a glance at Ethan. Then narrowed his eyes at the holographic screen in the corner of his eyes.
…
Just after their conversation, Shelly informed him of something: [Host, something is wrong with the system log.]
'Log,' he commanded mentally.
The familiar holographic screen popped into his peripheral vision.
Rows of data scrolled past, a comforting testament to his diligent work:
Helping Sarah with her report formatting (+2)
Assisting Bryan with a file transfer (+1).
There was even a satisfying bonus from Iris when he reorganized the entire departmental filing system (+5).
It was all logical.
The cause and the effect.
But then the most recent entries loaded. The clean blue and green color scheme was suddenly dyed in rows upon rows of red.
Neville's blood ran cold.
[Interaction with Ethan Goelet: Good Points -15]
[Interaction with Ethan Goelet: Good Points -8]
[Interaction with Ethan Goelet: Good Points -12]
The numbers were a punch to the gut. The deductions were relentless, a steady bonus deduction of points that made absolutely no sense.
He had fixed the formatting on Ethan's botched presentation just this morning. He had covered for him when he was late last week. He had been nothing but accommodating, practically a saint of workplace efficiency and kindness.
Each act of goodwill, which should have yielded at least a point or two, had instead resulted in a catastrophic loss.
And this was his reward? A system log that was practically screaming that the person closest to him and often helped was ruining his point earnings.
It didn't make sense. It was a bug.
It had to be.
But he couldn't run away from cold as ice, hard as a rock, clear-cut evidence in front of him.
Scrolling back to the logs when Neville first met him—
He actually couldn't stand him. From day one.
The realization hit Neville like a splash of ice-cold seawater.
Ethan's carefully constructed mask shattered the last bit of denial in Neville's heart. He could feel the heat of burning indignation in his chest.
His expression must've turned unsightly.
He quickly ducked his head, forcing his eyes onto a spreadsheet he couldn't actually read.
How dare he? Neville's mouth, which was usually set in a neutral line or a small, polite smile, twisted into a venomous scowl. That two-faced weasel.
To smile at me every single day, to accept my help—my work, my hard-earned points!—and all the while he was... what? Laughing at me? Plotting against me? Sarah warned me. She told me to be careful with him, and I just brushed it off.
A shadow fell over his desk, and Neville flinched internally.
"Everything alright, Neville?" Ethan's voice was heard. It was that low, infuriatingly casual tone he always used. "You look like you're trying to set that spreadsheet on fire."
Neville's fingers, which had been clenched into a white-knuckled fist beneath the desk, slowly uncurled. He looked up, pasting a smile on his face.
"I'm fine, Ethan. Thank you for your concern." He deliberately made his tone a little too polite, a little too formal.
He paused, letting the silence hang for a beat before adding, "Just going through some of the new mandatory HR disclosures. A bit tedious."
"Oh yeah?" Ethan leaned against the cubicle wall, crossing his arms. That infuriating, knowing smirk was back.
"Yes," Neville continued, his eyes like chips of ice. "A surprising number of them are about inter-office relationships. Apparently, some people find it difficult to keep things strictly professional."
The jab was clear, a perfectly aimed dart.
But Ethan just chuckled, a soft, airy sound that grated on Neville's every last nerve. He didn't try to look offended.
"Office romance?" he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "A messy, pointless distraction. Never ends well."
"I suppose you're right," Neville murmured, turning back to his screen, the words tasting like ash.
The battle was lost.
But the war, he thought as he stared at Ethan's name glowing red in his system log, had just begun.
'Shelly,' Neville commanded, his mental voice a blade of controlled fury, 'run a full background profile on Ethan Goelet. I want to know exactly who I'm dealing with.'
A cheerful chime pinged in his mind. [Ooh, host is finally going on the offensive! I love this part! (≧▽≦)/]
Shelly's normally giggly voice took on a mock-serious tone. [Accessing original timeline database... cross-referencing character logs... and—huh? (⊙o⊙)?]
The playful tone vanished. [That can't be right. Hold on, Host, running diagnostics.]
A tense silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of Neville's computer. 'What is it? Say it.'
[Well, Host... this is awkward,] Shelly replied, her voice now laced with genuine confusion. [According to the original story framework, Ethan Goelet is... a nobody. Like, less than a nobody. o(╯□╰)o]
Neville's eye twitched. 'Explain.'
[He's not a supporting character. He's not a minor antagonist. He's not even a named side character. His official role is: 'Background Extra #847 - CoWorker, Type C.']
The words hung in Neville's mind, utterly incomprehensible. He replayed them, the clinical, dehumanizing terms echoing in the sudden silence of his thoughts.
'Background Extra?' he seethed internally, the control over his fury finally cracking. 'You are telling me... that the black hole sucking away my good points, that problematic person... is a NOBODY?'
[Yup!（＾Ｏ＾）] Shelly's cheerfulness returned, amplified by the sheer absurdity. [Isn't it hilarious? You're being sabotaged by someone so insignificant that the system didn't even bother giving him a personality description beyond 'generically jealous coworker'! He's a literal NPC, Host! A walking, talking piece of clip art whose only job was to fill a chair!]
So he's not a villain... he's just petty by default?
Neville let out a short, sharp scoff under his breath. The sound was barely audible but loaded with a universe of disdain.
To be outmaneuvered by a real villain was one thing. To be thwarted by a nobody who acted like somebody—it was an utter insult to a cannon fodder like him.
At least he had a name, a role, a pre-written tragedy he was actively fighting to survive.
This Ethan—he was just furniture that had somehow developed delusions of grandeur.
His anger didn't vanish. Instead, it cooled, solidifying into something harder and far more useful: strategy. Neville's mind, which thrived on order and logic, began processing the new data.
An NPC. A wild card.
In this rigid, rewound world of Grayson, a character without a predetermined plot was a dangerous variable. They could be manipulated, weaponized. A Background Extra could easily become a pawn in a much larger game, wielded by a player he hadn't even identified yet.
But then, a new, colder thought cut through the analysis, freezing him in place.
Wait.
He didn't bother sharing this one with Shelly, keeping the chilling thought locked away in his mind.
The original timeline's major events... the ones that lead to my tragic end... It's five years from now. And Ethan Goelet, however minor, was in them. How can 'Background Extra #847' suddenly appear before the story even starts?
The implication was deeply unsettling. This was more than a glitch. It was terrifying.
I need to be careful, Neville decided, his fingers absently scrolling through the sheets. Someone this insignificant has become this hostile... and someone who is clearly not following his role... is a threat.
He glanced at the clock on his screen—4:47 PM.
Close enough. He could go to his dorm and debrief with Shelly properly.
Neville began gathering his belongings, his movements deliberate and casual, a perfect mask for the frantic calculations running through his head.
"Leaving already, Neville?"
Ethan's voice, honey sweet, cut through his thoughts. He was leaning back in his chair, watching Neville with an unreadable smile.
"It's not quite five yet," he continued, his tone dripping with false concern. "You're still on probation. You wouldn't want people to think you're slacking."
This bastard, Neville thought, the venom sharp and clear in his mind.
Outwardly, he simply offered a tight, professional smile. "Just dropping these files off at HR before they close. You know how they get about deadlines."
"Oh!" Ethan suddenly straightened, his voice jumping an octave as his hand flew to his forehead in an absurdly theatrical gesture of remembering something. "Thank God I stopped you. I completely forgot! I have something for you."
Before Neville could protest, Ethan turned back to his terminal, making a grand show of rummaging through his files. He clicked his mouse with slow, deliberate taps, dragging out the moment.
His every move was a clear, infuriating performance designed to do one thing: keep Neville right where he was.
Ethan's little performance had effectively sealed his escape route. Neville stood frozen, a man caught in a spotlight, his bag half-slung over his shoulder. He was quite aware that this theatrical display wasn't just for him.
It was for the man behind the glass inside the office.
Neville had learned to sense when he was being watched because of a certain someone. Right now, the weight of that someone's gaze pressed against his shoulders like a physical touch.
He turned his head slightly, towards the CEO's office.
Through the pristine glass, he saw the silhouette, a powerful shape against the city lights.
Grayson.
As if sensing Neville's attention, the figure shifted. For a breathtaking second, their eyes met across the office—Neville's sharp ocean blue clashing with the cold, molten silver of Grayson's eyes.
The intensity in that gaze made Neville's skin prickle.
In that moment, Neville did the only thing a defiant pawn could do when noticed by the king.
Smile.
It wasn't his usual armor—the fake, people-pleasing smile. This was something else entirely. Small, sharp, and laced with steel.
A clear, silent message sent across the battlefield: Yes, I see you watching. Yes, I know you're there. So just watch all you want.
The response was as immediate as it was insulting.
Grayson didn't nod. He didn't react. He simply turned, showing his broad back encased in a perfectly tailored suit.
This bastard! Neville's internal voice shrieked with a new level of indignation. You watch that whole pathetic show, and you can't even give me a flicker of acknowledgment? Fine! Fine! Keep looking all you want, but you better increase that favorability while you're at it!
"Here it is!" Ethan's triumphant voice snapped Neville's attention back to the current situation.
He didn't hand over the memory chip; he pressed it into Neville's palm with an unnecessary firmness. "This is M Industries' analysis you asked for last week. I totally forgot to give it to you."
Neville looked down.
A jolt went through him as he recognized the sleek, metallic casing. It was the memory chip that had vanished from his desk that morning. The one he'd spent a frantic hour searching for, convinced he'd lost it.
His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
[ALERT: Pheromone levels spiking,] Shelly's voice was a sharp warning in his mind. [Host, you need to calm down.]
Neville forced a slow, deliberate breath into his lungs. The scent of his own furious pheromones—salty and enraged—prickled his nose.
"Thank you, Ethan," he said, his voice clipped and cold. He clutched the chip in his hand like it was both the evidence and the weapon. "I'll be on my way, then."
He turned and walked away, his back straight, refusing to give either of them the satisfaction of seeing him falter. As he passed the threshold of the department, a soft, almost imperceptible chime sounded in his ear.
[Favorability: +0.5%]
A genuine smirk spread across his lips.