Look, I know it's questionable. I have the power, and I know it.
I'm aware of what it implies. Stories work like this. The guy with weird abilities, a suspicious system, and existential issues… ends up being the hero.
But I don't want to be the hero of this story.
I don't want inspiring speeches, or epic sacrifices, or to die in slow motion while someone screams my name in the rain. No thanks.
I just want to be one of those background side characters who make it to the end.
The kind that shows up in the back, makes an occasional comment… and survives.
Is that too much to ask?
Because honestly, judging by how these things usually go, being the protagonist is basically a suffering sentence with a bonus trauma package.
Besides… thinking about it, I'm pretty sure those cliché novel templates don't work like this.
This… this feels poorly put together.
Like someone mixed D&D manuals with Wikipedia articles written at three in the morning… and then ran it all through a chaos-thirsty automatic translator.
Nothing quite fits.
And that worries me more than it should.
Also, now that I think about it… didn't the first message mention its name?
Pan… was it?
I frowned.
Who even is Pan to begin with?
Against my suicidal instinct of "accept things without reading," I decided to first check the main function of this so-called system.
I took a deep breath.
Alright. Asking questions never killed anyone. Probably.
[MESSAGE]
[HELLO, SORRY, I WANTED TO ASK HOW THE SYSTEM WORKS EXACTLY. COULD YOU ALSO TELL ME HOW I SUPPOSEDLY DIED OR ABOUT THAT STRANGE DIVINE GAME YOU MENTIONED? AND IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE, COULD YOU TELL ME WHAT OR WHO YOU ARE? THANK YOU.]
[SEND]
I sighed deeply before pressing the button.
Too formal.
Too polite.
Definitely sounded like someone trying not to anger a potentially all-powerful entity… which, now that I think about it, was exactly what I was doing.
Two seconds passed.
Silence.
Three.
Nothing.
And then—
A bleat.
No. That doesn't do it justice.
It was like an enraged goat decided to scream directly inside my brain… using an industrial speaker.
A sharp, absurd, completely out-of-place sound… but real enough to make me react.
—AHHH!
I screamed.
Not a dignified scream. No. One of those traitorous screams that slip out without permission and destroy your reputation in milliseconds.
I clutched my head and, in an act of highly questionable intelligence, slammed into the stall wall.
—WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!
My balance decided to abandon me at that exact moment.
I slipped.
Fell backward.
And, as if the universe wanted to finish the scene, the stall door burst open.
I rolled a bit across the cold floor… ending up staring at the ceiling.
Three people.
Three complete strangers.
Watching me.
In silence.
With that look.
That look that mixes concern, discomfort… and mild regret for having entered the bathroom at that exact moment.
…Great.
Maybe it was the sudden panic scream.
Wait.
Panic.
Pan.
…Ah.
Does that mean…?
No. No. I don't want to connect those dots right now.
Damn it, I'm going to have to investigate that later.
Because if "Pan" is related to that… mental scream, then I have bigger problems than choosing a template.
I swallowed.
Maybe… the best thing to do was accept the template and get out of the bathroom before this escalated further.
Yeah.
Solid plan.
With an awkward smile, the kind that screams "I am not okay but I insist I am," I raised a hand.
—S-sorry… I'm fine… false alarm…
No one responded.
That made it worse.
Much worse.
I got up as best I could, dusted myself off… and, muttering a few extra apologies just in case, went back into the stall.
I carefully closed the door.
Silence again.
Good.
I took a deep breath.
And there it was.
Floating in front of me.
[DO YOU WISH TO ACCEPT THE REIGEN ARATAKA TEMPLATE]
[YES/NO]
…
Reigen, huh.
High charisma.
Zero real power.
…
Perfect.
Literally the best candidate to survive without drawing too much attention.
Without thinking too much, I pressed "Yes."
[ARE YOU COMPLETELY SURE?]
…
Yes.
Again.
[ARE YOU REALLY SURE?]
Damn it.
—Yes.
Again.
[ABSOLUTELY, TOTALLY, WITHOUT ANY DOUBT, IRREVOCABLY SURE?]
—YES!
I pressed the button a fourth time with more force than necessary.
One second of silence.
Two.
And then…
Nothing.
…
I blinked.
I expected something.
Bright lights.
Weird pain.
Compressed memories exploding in my head.
Something.
But no.
Nothing.
—…That's it?
I looked at my hands.
My body.
Everything normal.
Too normal.
…
Well.
That was… disappointing.
Though the hard part came after.
Leaving the bathroom stall.
I opened the door slowly.
As if that would somehow make the situation less awkward.
It didn't.
—Are you… okay, kid?
The same man, around forty, looked at me with genuine concern.
And that made it worse.
Much worse.
Because you can ignore mockery.
But genuine concern…
That destroys you from the inside.
—Y-yeah… I just… got a little dizzy.
I smiled.
That smile.
The universal "please don't ask more questions" smile.
The man nodded slowly.
But said nothing else.
Still… his expression was complicated.
Like he was deciding whether to call someone.
Or just accept he had witnessed something he didn't want to understand.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
My dignity had officially died.
And somehow…
It felt like this was only just beginning.
///
—Well, well, little brother… I can't even leave you alone in the bathroom. You're still a baby.
I froze mid-step.
No.
No.
No way.
I slowly turned my head, as if that might change reality.
It didn't.
My sister Yellow was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, wearing that dangerous smile that always meant trouble. Her short blonde hair was perfectly in place, as if the universe conspired to make sure that even during someone else's humiliation, she looked flawless.
Her eyes shone. Not with concern.
With amusement.
—So you were the one who screamed.
—I didn't scream.
—They heard you from out here.
—That proves nothing.
—A man in his forties came to ask me if I knew you—she added calmly—because he didn't know if you were sick.
…
That hurt.
Not physically.
—What did you tell him?—I asked, with a faint hope that, for once in her life, she had chosen mercy.
—That I didn't.
—Thanks.
One second of relief.
That's exactly how long it lasted.
—That my idiot brother's legs fall asleep and he tends to fall over. But we still love him anyway.
I closed my eyes.
Breathed in.
One.
Two.
Three.
…
Didn't work.
—I hate you.
—I love you too.
She said it so naturally it almost sounded genuine.
After an absolutely manly sigh…
I remembered.
Right.
Now I had abilities.
A system.
A template.
Technically… I should be more competent than before.
Or at least enough to not automatically lose every interaction with my own sister.
…Right?
I looked at her.
She was still smiling.
Fine.
Time to counterattack.
—By the way—she said before I could speak—I wanted you to help me pick more clothes, but honestly, you have the worst fashion sense I've ever seen.
…Hey. That hit straight at my completely nonexistent male pride.
—Of course I know about fashion—I replied, crossing my arms with confidence I absolutely did not feel—didn't I bring you that piece you wanted?
She raised an eyebrow.
—Obviously you asked someone.
—I know more about fashion than you think.
Lie.
Total.
Absolute.
But if that template gave me anything… it was the ability to lie with enough conviction to sound dangerously close to the truth… I think that's what the description said? Now I wasn't sure. Great.
And there it was.
That smug smile.
The usual one.
Damn it.
She's only a year older than me.
And yet she acts like she has decades of experience.
—In that case—she continued, straightening up slightly—you wouldn't mind coming with me and picking another one, right?
Ah.
There it was.
The trap.
Clear.
Shiny.
Inevitable.
And I…
Walked straight into it with the confidence of someone who doesn't understand the concept of consequences.
—Sure—I said.
Ah.
Me and my big mouth.
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
My sister turned on her heel, clearly satisfied.
—Perfect—I just needed someone to carry the bags after you prove you have no idea.
…
Ah.
Of course.
That made sense.
—Hey, wait, I was already carrying your bags—
—And someone to give opinions—she added, completely ignoring me—even if your opinions are objectively terrible, it's always useful to have an example of what not to pick. I'm sure if I let you choose clothes you'd go straight to pharmacy 3-for-2 discounts.
—That's offensive on multiple levels.
—And yet true.
She walked ahead of me, as if the conversation was already over.
Which, honestly, it probably was.
I followed.
As we walked down the hallway, I couldn't help but think about something.
I had a system.
I had abilities.
And yet…
—Hurry up—my sister said, barely turning around—if we're going to embarrass you in public, I'd at least like to do it before the store closes.
—So you're his sister? I know I told you to introduce me to your sister… but I didn't think you'd actually do it.
Coco tilted her head slightly as she looked Yellow up and down, as if she were evaluating a product… or comparing versions.
My sister didn't react.
—Yes.
Simple. Direct. No embellishments.
—Let me guess—Coco continued, crossing her arms—you told her you did it without help.
I felt the hit before she even finished the sentence.
—Hmm.
Perfect.
—So what is he trying to accomplish now?—Coco asked, turning slightly toward Yellow.
—He's going to look for a zafre-colored piece—my sister replied calmly—it's not like there are that many…
Ugh.
Colors.
My natural enemy.
Why are there so many?
Red, blue, green… fine.
But then things like "zafre," "magenta," "turquoise" show up… and okay, those are manageable, but then you get into shades… suddenly you need a doctorate in rainbows just to tell one blue from another, because apparently they're not the same.
I frowned.
This was my moment.
My chance to prove I wasn't a fully functional public liability.
—Yes.
That came out way too fast.
Both of them looked at me.
—Really?—the girl asked.
Too late to back out now.
I activated the only thing I had.
God-tier fake confidence.
—Of course—I crossed my arms—it's… pretty obvious.
It wasn't.
Not even close.
—Then—Coco said—where is the zafre-colored piece here?
She pointed at the displays.
Many.
Too many.
Clothes hanging.
Clothes folded.
Clothes on mannequins.
Colors.
I looked at it.
Then I looked again.
It was clothing.
Definitely clothing.
My brain started sweating.
I swallowed.
—Well…
—Yes—my sister said, smiling with barely concealed malice—enlighten us.
Damn it.
I closed my eyes for a second.
I thought.
Not about colors.
That would be useless.
I thought about probabilities.
About intuition.
About faking it until it works.
I opened my eyes.
—It's this one!
I pointed at a random piece.
Silence.
A heavy one.
Dense.
The kind that lasts just long enough for you to start regretting every life decision you've ever made.
—Oh?—Coco asked—are you sure?
My brain was improvising in real time, throwing out explanations I didn't even understand myself.
—Of course. Just look at the… uh… deep hue… with… undertones…—I made a vague hand gesture—…zafre-like.
I don't even know if that's a word.
—Interesting—Coco said.
Interesting good or interesting disaster?
I didn't know.
And honestly, I didn't want to know.
I looked at the piece again.
It had an orange tone.
Because if I faced it, I'd have to admit I was completely wrong.
And that wasn't going to happen.
Not today.
Not in front of my sister.
I stopped.
Something… moved.
Subtle.
Fast.
A small tug between the clothes.
My gaze shifted instinctively.
There.
A hand.
Sliding far too smoothly between the racks.
Grabbing something.
Disappearing beneath the oversized jacket of a guy who was definitely wearing something too big for him.
I blinked.
My brain took a second to process it.
Another to accept it.
And a third to decide it wasn't my problem.
…
No.
Wait.
Yes, it was my problem.
Because now I had seen it.
And once you see something like that…
You can't unsee it.
—Hey…
—Yeah?—my sister replied, still wearing that smile that was clearly waiting for me to mess up.
—I think…
I pointed carefully.
Without making too much of a scene.
Because, honestly, I didn't want this turning into one.
—Someone's stealing.
Both of them followed the direction of my finger.
The guy was already turning.
Walking toward the exit.
Too fast to be casual.
Too calm to be innocent.
Coco narrowed her eyes.
My sister tilted her head.
—Are you sure?—she asked.
For the first time in the entire conversation…
I didn't hesitate.
—Yeah.
Everything happened fast after that.
Ridiculously fast.
Like someone had pressed an invisible button labeled: "activate unnecessarily intense side event."
The guy took two more steps toward the exit…
And then—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
The sound cut through the air like an existential alarm.
…
Ah.
Right.
Tags.
How did I forget that?
Literally the most basic anti-theft system on the planet… and somehow, this guy had decided to gamble his dignity against it.
Spoiler: he lost.
Coco reacted first.
No hesitation.
No thinking.
She moved.
A sidestep.
Precise.
Calculated.
She intercepted his path before he could even pretend to be surprised.
The guy tried to turn.
She was already there.
Blocked.
A clean movement, almost elegant.
She pressed his shoulder against the nearest shelf, not overly violent, but firm enough to make it clear this wasn't negotiable.
The guy was cornered.
Literally no way out.
—I didn't do anything!
—Sure—Coco said, without raising her voice.
I hesitated.
One second.
Maybe two.
Well.
This wasn't my problem.
I just came here to fail at identifying colors, not to participate in improvised arrests.
I took a deep breath.
Stepped forward.
—Just admit it before this gets worse.
The guy blinked, confused.
—What?
Good.
Got his attention.
I continued.
—You're not the first to do this. You won't be the last.
I swallowed.
Inside, my brain was running in circles.
What am I even saying?Why is this working?Is this the template?
But on the outside…
On the outside, I held my posture.
Steady.
Firm.
Almost like I knew exactly what I was doing.
—So…—I tilted my head slightly—why did you do it?
And then…
Something changed.
The silence.
It shifted from tense…
to awkward.
Heavy.
Dense.
The guy stopped struggling.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
His eyes avoided ours.
—I…—he muttered, lowering his gaze—it was a dare from my friends…
Coco didn't move.
But her grip became… less rigid.
—I was supposed to prove my courage by sneaking clothes out…—he continued—sorry, really… I… I didn't want to…
His voice cracked slightly.
—I just thought they'd help me… they didn't tell me that thing would go off…
His voice faltered again.
—I was going to return it. Really.
Silence.
Again.
But different.
Not uncomfortable.
Not tense.
Just… uncomfortable in another way.
The kind that makes you want to look away.
I swallowed.
I felt a small twinge in my chest.
Not guilt.
Not exactly.
But something close.
Because yeah.
It was stupid.
Honestly, I get the feeling that if I hadn't spoken, things might've escalated a bit.
Coco sighed.
Tired.
—Lately it's always the same…—she muttered, more to herself than to us—they give naïve kids those stupid courage dares with branded clothes, and then laugh at them like it's a joke when it blows up in their faces.
She loosened her grip.
But didn't let go completely.
—Listen—I said, lowering my tone a bit—this… isn't worth it.
It wasn't a heroic speech.
Or inspiring.
Or anything like that.
Just… something from the heart.
—You're going to get in trouble over something you didn't even want to do.
The guy pressed his lips together.
He nodded slightly.
—I know… my mom would kill me if she found out about this.
The manager, who had come running over, just listened.
—Then start by not making it worse.
There was a brief silence.
The manager finally spoke, tired.
—Just… give back what you took and go, kid.
The guy didn't need to be told twice.
He left, dragging his feet.
Without looking back.
Without saying anything else.
The door closed.
Silence.
I blinked.
—…That worked.
I said it quietly.
More to myself than to anyone else.
Because honestly…
I wasn't sure what part had actually worked.
The logic?
The tone?
The fake confidence?
The template?
I turned my head slightly.
My sister was looking at me.
Different.
Not like before.
Not with immediate mockery.
—…Not bad—she admitted.
Coco looked at me too.
Curious.
—You're good with words.
Ah.
Great.
Of course.
Perfect.
My special power.
Talking.
Lying with style.
I sighed.
—Yeah… well…
I scratched the back of my neck.
—I guess something had to go right today.
I paused.
I looked at the piece I had pointed at earlier.
The orange one.
—By the way—I said, pointing at it—that's definitely not zafre, right?
My sister smiled.
Coco did too.
Later at dinner—
—And then Jaune basically evangelized him with motivational speeches.
His six sisters were listening to the whole story.
—Oh come on, it wasn't that much—Jaune said with false modesty.
—Not really—Yellow continued.
—But in the end, everything turned out fine.
—Yeah, that's right—Yellow added with a smile—by the way, that girl Coco gave me her number.