Flames danced all around him through the night. The sky—once dark—glowed orange, choked in smoke.
And ash fell like snow.
A boy stood still amidst the end of his world. Red hair flickering in the firelight. Blue eyes, wide open, unblinking.
Empty. Like glass.
He turned. Slowly. Behind him—A hill of corpses, stacked without care. Burning. The heat hummed. The silence screamed.
Wooden walls collapsed like sighs. Paper doors fluttered before vanishing into embers. The town—old, beautiful, once alive—now only a memory being devoured.
No screams. No tears. Only the crackle of fire, And a child, unmoving.
In that moment, The world had ended, And no one came.
The boy stood there, still as stone, until a voice reached him—gentle, almost too soft to hear over the fire.
"Hey... you alright?"
He blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and turned.
A young man stood there.
Early twenties, maybe. He wore a white kimono, its sleeves swaying faintly in the heat-heavy air. A black belt wrapped around his waist, and at his side hung a long black odachi, elegant yet ominous. On his right shoulder, embroidered into the fabric, was a single black rose.
But his face— The boy couldn't see it. No matter how hard he tried, it blurred, like the memory itself refused to give him that image.
The young man stepped forward slowly, crouching down to meet the boy's eyes.
Then, gently, he raised a hand and ruffled the child's soot-streaked red hair.
That simple act—so warm, so human—pierced through the numbness like a sword.
The boy's lips trembled.
And then—
The dam broke.
Tears spilled down his cheeks in violent waves. He wailed, falling forward into the stranger's arms.
The man said nothing. He just held him.
...
Gara jolted upright in his bed, breath caught in his throat.
The wooden walls of his small room greeted him in silence. Sunlight leaked past the edges of the black curtains, painting thin golden lines across the floor. He raised a hand to his forehead and wiped the sweat away, his fingers trembling just a little.
He sat there, unmoving, for a few long seconds.
'That dream again…'
The burning town. The corpses. The fire. And him.
'The day I lost everything… and the day I met him for the first time.'
His hand clenched around the blanket.
'The [First One Out].'
Even now, after all this time, the memory still felt like it had happened just yesterday.
Gara quickly shook his head, as if trying to physically toss the memory aside. He drew in a deep breath, then reached under his bed with a practiced motion, pulling out a small half-filled bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and took a few long gulps, the coolness helping settle the storm inside—at least a little.
He stopped halfway through and stared at the bottle. Another sigh left his lips as he leaned back, stretching his arms over his head until his back popped softly.
'Why that dream… now?' he wondered, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
It had been a long while since he'd seen it. The flames. The silence. That stranger's hand on his head. It usually came to him only when things got really bad. When he was disgusted with himself. When he felt small and powerless.
He narrowed his eyes, bitter thoughts swirling in his head.
'Must be the Red Point Gang...'
The image of the granny sobbing. That smug punk walking away with the Core. His own silence, the way he'd turned his back.
His grip on the bottle tightened.
'...Yeah. That's probably it.'
He sighed again and looked down at the now empty bottle, turning it once in his hand before muttering softly to no one, "...Should refill this."
With a flick of his fingers, a golden screen shimmered to life before him—his Story System interface. He tapped through a few simple motions, eyes scanning the upper right corner.
5:03 PM.
"Two hours, huh..." he mumbled, nodding slightly to himself.
After standing up, he took a moment to gather his thoughts and then began tidying the small room. He folded the blanket neatly at the foot of the bed and picked up his discarded jacket from the floor. The room still looked simple, but it now had a bit of order—enough for Gara to feel less guilty leaving it.
Bottle in hand, he stepped out of the room and walked down the short hallway, each wooden step creaking under his feet. A warm glow filtered through the tavern-like entrance of the Workshop as he reached the bottom of the stairs again, familiar smells of coffee and wood greeting him like a quiet routine.
The counter stood just where it had always been. Tables still scattered around. The place was empty—for now.
Gara walked over to the small kitchen area behind the counter, grabbed the half-full pot of coffee he'd made for Dante earlier, and poured the rest into a chipped ceramic mug.
It wasn't fresh, but it'd do.
He carried it back out into the tavern-like room and sat at one of the tables, the wood creaking faintly under his weight. Taking a slow sip, he leaned back with a quiet breath. The bitter taste didn't bother him—it was warm, and that was enough.
With his free hand, he called up his Story System interface again. The golden menu hovered in front of him, neat and familiar. He tapped through a few layers, entering the massive archive known as the Blue Trade Records.
Some Readers who had come to the Story World always compared it to something called "the internet back home." Gara had no idea what that really meant. Some kind of knowledge sea, maybe? He didn't care enough to research or ask.
He loaded up the White Clouds Server, one of the many regional Information Markets inside the Records. A flicker of loading light passed, and soon news entries began to scroll by—articles, recordings, summaries of Player movements, bounty postings, trade updates, Reciter logs, and more.
'Let's see what I missed while I was stuck freezing in [Ice Ninja] for four months...'
He scrolled slowly, eyes narrowing, sipping from his mug as the past week of the White Clouds began to unfold in front of him.
Time passed as Gara scrolled through the records, quietly sipping his coffee. His finger paused occasionally on headlines or glowing updates from the scrolling Blue Trade Records feed. Most were unremarkable—trade increases, small Fragments opening, bounty movements—but some caught his attention.
One report showed a rising star: a newly promoted A Ranker named [Crimson Specter], a Player with a sleek black outfit, a phantom mask, and a story built entirely around shadows and illusions. Apparently, he'd just defeated a veteran A Ranker in a public duel—someone known for being arrogant and dismissive of younger Players. The news clip showed just the aftermath: the crowd cheering, the veteran storming off in embarrassment.
'Guess he had it coming,' Gara thought as he raised an eyebrow. The comments under the article echoed the same sentiment. "Maybe next time he'll think twice before calling everyone below B Rank 'background characters.'"
Another update was more familiar—[Grey Rose] himself had given one of his monthly speeches, this one in a large plaza near the border of the Sky Loop Gate. The speech was a tradition by now, and the Blue Trade Records had a clean, edited summary already uploaded.
"Whether you were born in a Fragment or read your way into one," the grey-haired Duke had said, his voice calm but sharp, "you're a Player now. You carry a Story. And if your Story is worth telling, it deserves respect—no matter where you came from."
It was meant to ease tensions—tensions that always rose when too many new Readers arrived in a single wave. The White Clouds, after all, was one of the rare places in the Story World that actively protected Readers. A sanctuary built by compromise… and by the strength of a few who refused to let prejudice win.
Gara leaned back in his chair, letting the words settle in his mind.
He didn't say anything.
But he felt a little more awake.
Dante's voice cut through the quiet hum of the Blue Trade Records. "You sleep well, or were you dreaming of being useful for once?"
Gara looked up from the golden screen floating before him and snorted. "Weird of you to ask if I slept well. Didn't think you cared."
Dante sat down across the table with a lazy, exaggerated sigh. "I don't. I'm just trying to confirm whether or not I should start charging you for wasting oxygen in your sleep."
Gara rolled his eyes and reached for the nearby pot, pouring Dante a cup of coffee without being asked. "Here, your royal bitterness."
Dante raised the cup with one gloved hand. "Mmm. Brewed with passive aggression. Just how I like it." He took a small sip, then tilted his head. "So, what are you up to now? Looking up how not to trip over your own sword?"
Gara leaned back, still scrolling the Records. "Checking out what I missed while I was gone. A Ranker named [Crimson Specter] made waves. Took down a veteran. Also, [Grey Rose] gave his speech again. Usual stuff."
Dante hummed thoughtfully into his cup. "Huh. That guy again. Think he ever gets tired of being noble and inspiring?"
Gara smirked. "You'd die if you had to say something that nice in public once a month."
"Correction. I'd kill someone. Not die." He took another long sip, eyes glinting slightly with amusement. "And speaking of noble acts… I heard from Lavia. She said you gave some of your Cores away earlier."
Gara blinked, not sure how she knew. "That… yeah."
Dante gave him a look, somewhere between sarcastic and sincere. "You really are the worst waiter I've ever had. Generous, kind-hearted, annoying—completely useless in a proper business setting."
Gara chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, well… thanks."
Dante didn't say anything more. Just drank.
The white-haired young man sighed, his expression more thoughtful than teasing for once. "You doing alright?"
Gara blinked. He could tell Dante wasn't joking this time. There was no sarcasm in his voice, no half-smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah," Gara replied after a brief pause. "I'm okay."
Dante didn't push. He just gave a short nod and leaned back, switching the topic without missing a beat. "Anyway. The guy who came looking for you? His name's Leif."
That name caught Gara's attention. He leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued. "Leif? What did he want? Which Fragment is he trying to get guided through? Please don't tell me it's [Ice Ninja]. I just got out."
Dante grinned and shook his head, that familiar gleam of amusement returning to his eyes. "Nah, nothing frozen this time. But the crazy part isn't the Fragment—it's the payment he's offering."
Gara raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
Dante took another sip of his coffee, clearly savoring the moment. "He's offering a few hundred Green Cores, sure. But more importantly…"
He paused dramatically.
"…a D Ranked ticket to the Final Express."
Gara nearly dropped his cup. "Wait. A Final Express ticket? D Rank?"
Dante nodded, his grin widening. "Told you it was crazy."
Gara blinked, trying to process it. A D Ranked Final Express ticket wasn't just rare—it was practically a miracle for most F Rankers. People killed for tickets like that. And someone was offering it to him?
"What's the catch?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Dante chuckled, standing up with his cup in hand. "You'll find out when you talk to him. He's still waiting. Go freshen up or whatever it is you do before you start pretending to be a professional."
Gara stared at the screen for a few more seconds, heart beating a little faster now.
A Final Express ticket.
What kind of Fragment would be worth that?
The red-haired young man's breath quickened.
A D Ranked Final Express ticket?
That wasn't the kind of payment you offered to just any Story Guide. Especially not to someone like him—an F Ranker with barely a handful of Fragments under his belt. Most of them were F Rank, one was E Rank, and then there was that one...
Gara looked up slowly, the suspicion already forming into certainty. "Is it… the one I'm thinking of?"
Dante's smile thinned, not smug this time—just a little tense. He gave a slow nod.
"Yeah," he said. "Leif wants you to guide him through [Rashanz]."
A pause.
"The SS Ranked Fragment."
Players could challenge Fragments higher than their current Rank—as long as they were willing to risk it.
That was how Gara, an F Ranker, had once entered [Rashanz], an SS Ranked Fragment. The Story System would cap the Fragment to match the Player's current level, preventing it from completely overwhelming them in terms of raw power. But that didn't mean it became easy.
Readers often compared it to playing a game on different difficulty settings. A native F Ranked Fragment like [Ice Ninja] was like playing on "Normal Mode"—challenging but manageable.
[Rashanz] capped at F Rank?
That was "Hard Mode."
The enemies, plot twists, and mental strain of surviving inside [Rashanz] were still SS Rank at heart. Capping just meant they wouldn't get wiped out instantly, not that they'd survive easily.
Gara stared at Dante, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "Why would Leif want me as a guide to a Fragment like that?" he finally asked, shaking his head. "I went there once, yeah—but I got wiped out in under an hour."
He leaned back slightly, still trying to wrap his head around it. "Not to mention, I never finished it. I don't know all the ins and outs. I can't guide anyone through [Rashanz]—not properly, anyway. I'd need to go back in and experience it a bunch of times first."
Dante shrugged. "Don't look at me. I'm not sure either. But Leif was clear—he asked for you, and he showed me the ticket himself. It's legit."
Gara felt his heart thump harder in his chest.
A D Ranked Ticket to the Final Express... Real?
And Leif still wanted him?
It didn't add up. Not fully. Not yet.
He let out a slow, uneasy sigh.
Dante leaned back, sipping from his cup again. "You don't have to say yes," he said, tone more casual now, "but you should at least talk to him. Figure out what the guy actually wants."
Gara lowered his gaze to his own half-empty cup, thinking it over. A few moments passed before he gave a small nod. "Yeah… alright. I'll go see what this is about."
"Good," Dante said, then added, "He's staying at the Red Light Inn."
Gara froze.
His stomach twisted almost instantly, like he'd swallowed something sour. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough for Dante to miss it.
Inwardly, his thoughts darkened. Out of all the inns. Out of all the hotels this section of the White Clouds offers… it just had to be that one. Didn't it?
The Red Light Inn.
The place closest to those scum.
The Red Point Gang.
Gara shook his head lightly, trying to push away the flood of frustration and anger creeping in from the edges of his mind. Why that place? Why them? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. The Red Point Gang had done too much to be ignored, and just being near their territory was enough to make his blood boil.
But then another image entered his thoughts—a promise, he made with Marcus.
The Final Express.
They'd promised to meet again in two months, at the Town of No Return. Together, they'd board that train. Together, they'd chase something greater.
He exhaled slowly, the tension loosening just a little.
"Alright," he muttered, eyes low. "I'll go see what this Leif guy wants."
Dante nodded but didn't respond immediately. Instead, he set his cup down, fingers drumming lightly against the wooden table for a few seconds.
Then, in a rare moment of seriousness, his voice came quiet but firm: "If you really want to reach the top… to become the strongest in the Story World, the way you say you do. To reach the level of the [First One Out]…"
Gara looked up.
"…then this is the bare minimum."
Dante's eyes met his, unflinching. "You've got to guide someone through a high-ranked Fragment like [Rashanz]. Even if it scares you. Especially if it does."
Gara stared at him for a long moment, silent.
Then, he gave a slow nod. No jokes. No protests.
Just… resolve.
...
Outside, the cloudlike streets of the White Clouds stretched in pale hues beneath a golden evening sky. Gara walked slowly, hands tucked into the long sleeves of his red kimono, the fabric swaying gently with each step. His expression was dark—not brooding, but quiet, thoughtful. The kind of quiet that followed hard truths.
Dante's words echoed in his head. "This is the bare minimum."
And he was right.
If Gara truly meant what he said—if his dream wasn't just some fantasy he clung to on sleepless nights—then he had to move forward. Not crawl. Not wait. Move.
He wasn't just trying to become strong. He wasn't chasing recognition or revenge, not anymore. His goal was something most would call impossible.
To become the strongest in the entire Story World.
Not just on the same level as legends like the [Grey Rose] or the [Gold Emperor].
No… even higher.
To reach his level.
The one who stood at the beginning.
The [First One Out].
And to do that… fear wasn't an option.
Sure, challenging an SS Ranked Fragment like the [Rashanz] Fragment while still being an F Ranker was unheard of—some would call it reckless, others downright crazy.
But desperate dreams called for desperate measures. That's what made dreams worth chasing, didn't it? When they were so out of reach, they felt impossible. And it was your job to make them possible.
Gara sighed lightly as he walked and offered small nods and smiles to the passerbys. Most of them greeted him first—some with casual waves, others with polite smiles. He was known around this part of the White Clouds, and most people liked him.
But as his thoughts turned back inward, the weight returned.
'Leif… what's your deal?'
A guy who wanted to be guided through [Rashanz], of all Fragments.
By him, of all people.
Dante had given Gara a picture—just in case. And that image stayed sharp in his mind: a young man, not much older than Gara himself, with short, messy blond hair and striking crimson eyes.
He wore a long black cloak that made his outline hard to read, like a shadow drifting through a crowd. Underneath, sleek black clothing—combat-ready, light, made for speed. Not exactly standard F Ranker gear.
Why him?
Why ask for Gara?
He'd find out soon. The Red Light Inn wasn't far.
Some time passed, and then he was there.
Still a few steps away, but the sight of it was unmistakable—the Red Light Inn. A towering structure three stories high, its wooden frame painted in deep crimson, with curved tiled roofs and ornate hanging lanterns that glowed faintly even in the late afternoon light. It stood tall like a sleeping beast, elegant yet dangerous. Its aesthetic echoed the grandeur of old world inns—carved wood, painted beams, and gentle chimes that rang with the wind.
People passed by without lingering too long, most of them quick with their pace, especially those not dressed in red. And that was the thing—those who did wear red were likely part of the Red Point Gang. It wasn't a written rule, but everyone knew. Red collars, red sleeves, red sashes. It was their way of marking territory, of saying we're here, and this street is ours.
Gara glanced down at his own red kimono and gave a quiet, unamused huff.
'Yeah. Real subtle, huh.'
Of course, he was the exception. Red hair, red kimono, red temper when pushed too far—but none of it tied him to them. Everyone here knew the difference. At least, they should by now.
He stopped just short of the steps leading to the inn's entrance. For a brief second, he considered turning back. Just for a second.
Then he let out a slow breath and took the first step forward.
As Gara neared the door of the Red Light Inn, it suddenly blasted open with a heavy boom, the wood creaking violently on its hinges.
He froze mid-step, eyes widening as a figure was hurled out of the doorway, crashing into the street and tumbling across the stone path until he lay sprawled out, groaning. The man clutched his ribs, coughing up blood. A red jacket clung to his frame—one of the Red Point Gang members, no doubt.
Gara blinked, stunned. The guy had been launched like a sack of grain. Whatever hit him wasn't casual.
He turned toward the inn's entrance, now left yawning wide, its doors thrown open from the impact. The warm red light inside clashed with the tension in the air. And then he saw them.
Five more men, all wearing the same red jackets, stood in a rough circle around a young man with short messy blonde hair. They weren't moving. In fact, they looked almost frozen—like they hadn't expected one of their own to be taken out in a single blow.
The young man in the middle stood calmly, a black cloak hanging off his shoulders, the edge fluttering from the force of the earlier strike. Beneath it, tight black clothes fitted for movement. His crimson eyes flicked toward the fallen gang member outside, then back to the ones still standing, as if deciding who would be next.
Gara's shoulders slumped, a long sigh leaving his lips.
"Of course it's him," he muttered.
Leif.
The one who wanted to be guided through [Rashanz]. The one who offered a D Ranked ticket to the Final Express. The same kid now casually picking fights with Red Point Gang members in broad daylight inside their favorite inn.
'This is already a disaster waiting to happen,' Gara thought, rubbing his temple.
But—he had come this far. So, with another sigh, Gara stepped forward.
The Red Point gang members turned their eyes to the new figure who had just stepped into view.
"Gara…" one of them muttered, recognizing the red hair and kimono immediately.
But they didn't linger on him.
Their gazes quickly darted back to Leif, still standing calmly in the middle of the room, his cloak shifting with every breeze, his expression unreadable. Whatever they had planned when they surrounded him—it wasn't this. Not the guy flying through the air. Not the lack of fear in Leif's eyes.
One of them, trying to salvage what little pride they had left, pointed a trembling finger at the blonde young man.
"You—you better wait right here," he stammered. "You messed with the wrong group. We'll get back at you. You'll regret this!"
It didn't sound very convincing, not with the slight quiver in his voice.
They turned as one, retreating fast—almost tripping over themselves—as they scrambled out of the inn.
Outside, they helped up the groaning man who'd been thrown earlier, supporting him on their shoulders as they limped away, shooting glances over their shoulders. Not at Gara. At Leif.
Gara watched them go, expression flat. "That's gonna cause trouble," he muttered under his breath.
Leif turned his head slightly toward him, crimson eyes calm, as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Gara cleared his throat and took a step forward, ready to speak—maybe ask about what just happened, or maybe just introduce himself properly. But before a single word left his mouth, Leif turned his head slightly, crimson eyes glinting beneath his blonde bangs.
"Not here," he said, voice calm but firm. "Let's talk in my room."
Then, without waiting for a reply—without even looking back—he turned and strode toward the elevator at the far end of the inn's entrance hall, his black cloak trailing behind him.
Gara stood there, blinking once. His eye twitched.
'Seriously?' he thought. 'You pick a fight with the Red Point Gang, don't say a single word to explain it, and then just walk off like I'm your assistant or something?'
He almost turned around right then and there. Almost. But then he remembered it—the ticket. A real, D Ranked Ticket to the Final Express. Not something you found lying around. Not something you could fake.
He sighed through his nose, stuffed his hands back into his kimono pockets, and followed Leif toward the elevator.
'He better not act like that the whole time or I'm throwing him into the first monster pit I find inside the [Rashanz] Fragment.'
—End of Chapter.
-------
[Chat Log – Not Canon. Just Two Dorks Reviewing the Chapter.]
Gara: Yo!
Leif: ...
Gara: You alive?
Leif: ...
Gara: Ok edge man, I'll do the talking!!
Leif: ...
Gara: I liked the part where u threw a guy like a sack of potatoes.
Leif: ...He touched my cloak.
Gara: That's illegal now?
Leif: It is when I'm wearing it.
Gara: You didn't say hi to me though!
Leif: I was surrounded.
Gara: By soup gang members with bad jackets!
Leif: Red is an unfortunate color.
Gara: YOU'RE WEARING BLACK.
Leif:With purpose.
Gara: Anyway, I'll guide u but if u don't stop acting like a dramatic cat I'm charging extra.
Leif: I'll pay in silence.
Gara: Oh look!! More silence. What an amazing deal!!
Leif: Fine. Thank you for your… participation.
Gara: Say "Thank you coolest person ever!"
Leif: ...
Leif has left the chat.
Gara: Worth it.