The old man offered a thin smile. The wrinkles on his face shifted like cracks in parched earth that had weathered far too many seasons.
"Me?" he said softly. His voice wasn't loud, yet every word felt like a weight pressing against the chest. "I am merely an old man who has lived far too long in the wrong world."
Leo leaned back into his chair. His hand still gripped the coffee cup, but his fingers were taut, coiled and ready to strike at a moment's notice.
"If you're just here to play the mysterious hermit, find another table," Leo said coldly. "And don't call me Player 001."
The elder let out a soft chuckle. It was a light sound, yet it made the hair on the necks of everyone in the tavern stand on end. Several gamblers ducked their heads; others feigned sudden, intense busyness. Not a single soul dared to look in their direction.
"Interesting," the old man remarked. "Your reflexes do not belong to a denizen of this world. Even your way of thinking… it is too clean. Too efficient."
He leaned forward, his aged eyes locking onto Leo's with piercing intensity.
"You are no adventurer. No nobleman. And certainly no failed NPC."
Leo narrowed his eyes.
"…You know too much."
"I know because I have seen your kind before," the old man replied casually. "Those who come bearing the rules of another realm. Those known as Players."
The air around the table seemed to solidify. Beside Leo, the girl instinctively tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. Leo set his cup down slowly.
Clink.
The sound cut through the tension like a blade.
"If you want to live a little longer," Leo said in a low whisper, "stop right there."
The old man's smile only widened.
"A fine threat. Unfortunately, I did not come here to challenge you."
"Then why?"
"I came to warn you." The tone of his voice shifted—the playfulness vanished instantly. "Ouroboros City is not merely a gambling hub. It is a knot. A junction where Players are hunted, exploited… or erased."
Leo gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Erased?"
"From the system," the old man answered. "From history. From the very memory of this world."
For the first time since arriving in this realm, Leo felt something foreign. It wasn't fear—it was pure, unfiltered vigilance.
"Who are you, really?" Leo demanded.
The man stood, his tattered robes swaying gently.
"Consider me… an old bug that hasn't been patched yet."
He began to walk away, then paused without turning back.
"Oh, and Player 001." A faint smile returned to his face. "If you wish to survive, never gamble with an Administrator."
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A heartbeat later, the old man vanished into the crowd—as if he had never existed at all. The tavern's roar returned. Laughter, the shuffling of cards, and the clinking of coins collided in the air once more.
Leo stared at the empty space where the man had stood.
"…Damn it," he muttered. "It seems this world is even more broken than I thought."
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