Red sat with one leg crossed over his knee, his foot gently tapping against the floor.
The sun rose across the horizon as he sipped his tea, its hue staining the sky.
He mumbled more to himself than anyone else.
"I still have no clue what Blue thought made these so beautiful."
Red formed a glyph and dropped the cup into it.
Some would complain that using S-rank magic capable of creating black holes as casual waste disposal was an abuse of power.
Red would say they were just jealous they were not strong enough to use black holes casually.
He leaned back in the chair.
The front two legs lifted off the ground as he let it tip, beginning a small countdown in his head.
Just as the players were about to pass beneath him, Red let the chair fall.
Right before he would have hit the ground, he went intangible and slipped through the floor, coasting down through the villa the tournament had practically thrown at him when he announced he was going to watch the games.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the page, a small smile on his face at that little piece of hidden knowledge most would never learn about.
Then he prepared his posture.
And landed.
Right as one of the groups of Fateless was about to pass by.
There were few pleasures in life one could expect to stay enjoyable.
But that feeling of terror when Red himself entered a room?
Always fun.
Though, like most Fateless, it quickly shifted from terror to relief.
Because it was only the nation-destroying murderer with more kills across trillions of lifetimes than there were probably molecules in this universe.
Only him.
"Jeez, Red," Alex said, taking a moment to lean over and hold his chest like he had suddenly developed a heart problem. "You scared us."
The boy was your typical protagonist.
White hair.
Fancy attire.
A special sword he stored in his right hand.
The fucking chuunibyou or whatever the word was.
His allies were more of a range.
Shura was probably one of the core two from the original student council due to players losing characters this way or that.
Observer kept trying to explain that it was up to them if they used the characters.
But Red would like to hear him try saying that after Red had to spend a whole afternoon time-traveling, screwing with people's memories, and even rewriting genetics.
Nobody in Alex's family had white hair.
So either his mother had found someone else on the side, or Red had invented gene splicing in a fantasy world.
Because gods forbid he have an easy job.
Red paused.
"Wait," he said. "I'm going on a tangent, and you probably didn't click this chapter to hear that."
He cleared his throat.
"My bad. Now, I was talking about…"
Red glanced over the page.
"Let me just read through what's here so far. Yeah, yeah, sunrise thing, black hole joke, anime reference—ah. Yes. Shura."
She was simple in a way that someone like Red, who had to carve details into people, could love.
Feasible red hair.
Swordswoman.
The daughter of Hajnal bit had been harder to pull off, but Red made it work.
Fable was pretty typical too.
Barely shaves, but somehow always has a microstache.
Scarf guy, despite the fact that it was, like, seventy degrees outside.
He had the power to affect fate and causality due to being a prodigy at messing with the foundational forces of the universe.
So.
Typical kid.
Then there was the furry with a singing voice who kept changing the theme music for boss fights. He was newer.
The last was the fire kid.
He was contracted with some hotshot spirit, but Red did not remember which one.
He did know there had been some kind of over-the-table deal between the kid's player and Observer to let him have that contract.
"So, Red," Fable asked, his voice carrying a surprising depth for someone who seemed locked seventy-three percent of the way through puberty, "why is it that you recommended we come to this event as Alex's final session?"
Alex turned back.
"Okay," Alex said, "can we not say final session like I'm about to be offered as a sacrifice here? I'm being freed, and Misery is moving on to another character."
As Alex finished, time froze around them.
Red glanced up toward the icons that represented the different players as Misery turned to Observer's icon.
"By the way, have you set Red to get to work on that?"
"Bitch," Red said, floating upward and crossing his arms, "don't talk about me like I'm not here."
The icons turned to one another.
"Well," Observer said, "I think we'll pick up the next session with you all here for the tournament, and we'll do the Alex send-offs next week. Sound good, y'all?"
There were various contented noises.
Then came that strange sound that always followed players leaving the strange room Observer made and invited them to.
Observer waited a moment before turning back to Red.
"Have you had a chance to work on that paladin he wants to play next?"
"Have you?" Red asked.
Red knew full well that a chunk of the work also fell to Observer, who had to give him a budget of powers to grant.
The rank of the soul skill.
The circumstances of the desired backstory.
How dangerous they could actually be.
All that nonsense.
"I'll finish that up later," Observer said. "For now, can you not try to hijack the story? It's supposed to follow Aiden and his group, not the adventures of Red as he does gods know what."
Red rolled his eyes and glanced back toward the page.
What is he, my mom?
"Hey," Observer said. "Quit breaking the fourth wall. Unlike you, I have to fix it every time someone does. And I am not having the whole I-created-you-and-your-mom-and-your-mom's-mom discussion with you again."
He paused.
"That took way too long, and we ended up spiraling for, like, three hours."
"Fine, fine," Red said. "I'll let the perspective return to them."
He leaned back slightly.
"But why exactly did you want me to give Ymer and his group their il—"
"Hey, spoilers!"