It was nighttime, but that didn't matter—this entire city existed underground, nestled on the fifth floor beneath the surface. The only entrance to this hidden level was through a massive gate carved into the trunk of a colossal blue tree, a silent guardian that loomed above and watched over the city like an ancient sentinel.
The ground was paved with dark blue tiles that shimmered faintly under the glow of floating lanterns, casting ripples of soft light across the polished surface. The buildings were shaped with an elegant, curved architecture—roofs sloping like waves, held up by wooden frames and stone foundations, giving the city an air of timelessness and quiet dignity.
In a tucked-away corner of this underground sprawl stood a modest food stall, more like a crooked box patched together with love and soot. It wasn't busy—only three customers stood nearby—but the scent in the air was enough to make even a passing monster linger. Behind the stall, the owner worked with practiced ease, flipping, searing, and layering with a rhythm that came from years of repetition.
She served the three clients a speciality of hers, "dark sandwiches"—thick, toasted rolls with charcoal-colored bread that crackled lightly when bitten.
The inside oozed with rich, steaming fillings: slices of glazed meat marinated in blackened soy reduction, melted crimson cheese that stretched like molten lava, and bitter greens sautéed in oil that shimmered with a strange, silvery sheen. A whisper of smoke clung to every layer, the scent dancing with pepper and spice, promising warmth and depth in every bite.
The first of the three clients was a Half-Wolf—tall and imposing, with a lean, predatory frame. His fur was a sleek, weathered gray, tinged with the faintest silver under the lantern light.
Crimson eyes, sharp and watchful, flicked occasionally toward the stall, though his posture remained relaxed. He wore a violet kimono that flowed like liquid night, cinched at the waist with a bold red belt.
Hanging from his left side were three Odachis, each sheathed and decorated with striking detail: one crimson blade etched with black roses, another deep blue with delicate white roses, and the last a vibrant yellow adorned with green roses, their hilts resting in perfect balance against his hip.
Beside him sat a Half-Dragon, broad-shouldered and massive, his golden scales gleaming like hammered metal under the light. Horns curved back from his brow, and his eyes held the distant stillness of something ancient.
He wore a heavy, military-style battlesuit, bulked with armored plating and designed for frontline combat. Resting against the chair next to him was a massive machine gun—polished, worn, and unmistakably functional. Its weight alone seemed to bend the wooden chair beneath it.
The third figure was perhaps the most unsettling, if only for his quiet stillness. A young man, judging by his frame, dressed in a crisp formal black suit, offset by a stark white tie and small white roses sewn neatly into the seams. His black gloves rested calmly on the table, and his sleeves were rolled up to the forearms with an air of casual precision.
But it was his face—or the lack of one—that drew the most attention. A black, featureless mask covered his head entirely, smooth and reflective like polished obsidian. No eyes. No mouth. No nose. Just a slick, expressionless surface that turned slightly now and then, as if observing through means unknown.
The three of them sat together at the only table by the stall, waiting silently as the scent of dark sandwiches filled the air, their presence too quiet, too deliberate.
The black-masked figure spoke first, his voice smooth but distant, like an echo through a tunnel. "So... how have you two been? It's been a while since we all met up... I think... three years?"
A low, hearty laugh rolled out from the Half-Dragon, deep enough to rumble the tableware. "Hahaha! You mean thirty, you dufus."
The Half-Wolf cracked a grin, flashing the tips of his sharp canines before chiming in, "For Z Rankers, it feels like only three... How time passes, eh?"
The young man with the black hair scratched the back of his head, a sheepish chuckle slipping out. "Haha! Sorry about that... I didn't mean to make it about ranks or anything, I just... really thought it was only three."
The Half-Dragon waved a hand dismissively, his golden-scaled fingers catching the lantern light. "Nah, don't worry about it, brother."
Then the Half-Wolf leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his crimson eyes gleaming under the hooded lantern glow. "Anyways, I've been doing well for the most part. Managed to get [Eyes That Never Sleep] to X Rank, so that's pretty good, I'd say."
Their voices mingled with the ambient hum of the underground city—the flickering lanterns, the distant echoes of footfalls, and the sizzle of meat from the stall—framing their reunion like a scene torn from the heart of a buried legend.
The Half-Dragon nodded with a grin, reaching over to give [Eyes That Never Sleep] a firm pat on the shoulder, his heavy gauntlet landing with a metallic thud softened by warmth. "Yup yup, he finally made it to my rank after so long... But I mean, you gotta admit, it's nice seeing your bro get there, am I right or what?"
The black-masked figure gave a slow nod, his voice quiet but sincere. "True. I apologize for not congratulating you earlier... I should've thrown a party or something for you... I didn't even bring a present with me, hah! I must be the worst younger brother ever, huh?"
The Half-Wolf shook his head, ears twitching slightly, a calm smile pulling at the corners of his muzzle. "Don't worry about it. I get it. The life of a Z Ranker is very busy. In fact, I'm amazed I got to meet you today at all."
The masked figure turned his gaze downward, the sheen of the black mask catching a flicker of lanternlight like a ripple on still water. He spoke again, quieter this time, the weight of his words hanging in the air. "Nope, I truly do apologize. It's just that I've been quite busy these last few years. Got a lot of assignments to complete... I'm trying to build up my power even more... You know, in case... you know..."
His words trailed off into the crackle of the stall's fire, the unspoken reason echoing louder than anything said. For a moment, the table fell into silence—heavy, familiar, and real.
The Half-Dragon couldn't help but let out a low chuckle, his golden-scaled tail flicking behind him. "Hoho? You gonna make a kid soon?"
The Half-Wolf turned sharply, ears perking. "Wait, really?"
The black-masked figure quickly raised a gloved finger to where his mouth would've been, the gesture exaggerated through the featureless mask. "Shush, you two! This is top secret info."
"Is it? I mean, I got to hear everything, you know?" a fourth voice cut in, smooth and playfully unimpressed.
It belonged to the stall owner, who approached with a casual sway in her step, placing a large wooden tray on the table in front of them. On it were twelve perfectly assembled dark sandwiches, their steaming contents giving off that rich, smoky aroma that curled through the air.
Without waiting, the Half-Dragon grabbed one, the bread cracking slightly under his fingers as he bit in with a satisfied growl.
The stall owner gave a small smirk, wiping her hands on her apron. She was a Half-Cat—red fur, flicking tail, sharp ears twitching every now and then. Her features were youthful, eyes bright and feline, but in the Story World, appearances were the greatest liars of all. No one questioned her age, nor how someone so young-looking could cook with the skill of a legend.
She leaned against the edge of their table, arms folded, as if she'd always been part of the conversation.
"Sit, sit, no need to play the part of a stall owner," said the Half-Dragon through a half-mouthful of food, waving her over casually. "No one's coming… probably. You should try other places, business doesn't seem to be doing too well for you."
He took another huge bite, chewing with delight before adding, "Though I gotta say, you have a way with sandwiches. I can't stop eating this thing."
The Half-Cat smiled softly and slid into the empty seat beside him, her tail curling lazily behind her. "Of course I do… Who was the one cooking for you three back then, hmm???"
The black-masked figure gave a nod, arms crossed over the table. "Yup. If not for you, we would've starved to death by now."
"Haha! I agree as well," the Half-Wolf added with a wide grin, tapping his claws gently on the table. "Mera is a cook for the ages—one of the best in the Story World, I can assure you of that."
The Half-Cat girl—Mera—blushed faintly, her red fur doing little to hide the warmth rising to her cheeks. She shook her head quickly, ears twitching in embarrassment. "No, no, no! No way that's true. I'm only C Ranked. If anything, there are probably billions of better cooks in the Story World compared to me."
Her tail flicked again, betraying her pride even as she tried to downplay it.
"Doesn't change the fact that I like your food the best," the Half-Dragon countered without missing a beat, his tone as casual as the bite he took from his sandwich.
Mera's blush deepened instantly, and with a flustered huff, she pulled her fluffy red tail up to cover her face, only her bright eyes peeking over it in embarrassment.
That did it—laughter erupted from the trio of older brothers. The Half-Wolf leaned back with a grin, the masked figure let out a quiet chuckle through his covered face, and the Half-Dragon just kept chewing with a smug look.
Desperate to steer the conversation away, Mera cleared her throat and leaned forward. "So, so… what is this about a kid, big bro Renzo?" she asked, her voice quick, light, and far too innocent.
"Well... me and Shizu were thinking..." the black-masked figure began, voice quieter now, words weighed down with something more than just nerves. "You know, maybe it's time we got a child. And maybe it's time we... the other thing."
The Half-Wolf's ears twitched sharply, his expression hardening as the lightness drained from his eyes. "The other thing? Really... Do you two even have a way to counter it?"
Even the Half-Dragon, usually so jovial, stopped mid-bite and slowly set his sandwich down. His golden eyes narrowed. The crackling of the stall's fire was the only sound that remained.
"Really?" he said, tone low but steady. "You know you got us, right? Even if you don't check in much... we're still your family. Though you better visit more in the future."
The black-masked figure's head tilted downward, gaze falling to the untouched sandwich in front of him. He couldn't look at them. Shame twisted in his chest. Thirty years without a word. And still... they were ready to stand beside him, no questions asked.
"I'm sorry... I'll visit plenty from now on," the black-masked figure said, lifting his head to look at the three of them with quiet conviction, like he was sealing a promise in the air itself.
He turned to [Eyes That Never Sleep], meeting his gaze directly. "As for countering that... we don't have a way to just yet. But we've been doing our hardest to look for one."
He paused, the flickering firelight casting subtle waves across his mask, before continuing, his voice even lower. "What I'll say now is supposed to be a big secret. Only me, Shizu, and the person involved know about it… but I trust you three with my life."
At once, Mera, [Eyes That Never Sleep], and the Half-Dragon leaned in subtly, all traces of humor or casual talk gone. They were listening now—not just with ears, but with the weight of decades of trust behind them.
"The [Owl] seems to know something about it... I'm traveling with him currently, which is why, if you hear anything about us being buddies, that's the reason behind it."
"Oh!!!" [Eyes That Never Sleep] leaned back, eyebrows raised. "I had heard about [Last Note of Black] becoming besties with [Owl] just a while ago... So it was true, huh? And it's for that reason??? Huh, I see now."
He nodded slowly, piecing it all together. The picture had changed. What once seemed like a strange alliance now carried the weight of something deeper, something dangerous... and real.
Mera was too stunned to speak, her mouth slightly open, tail frozen mid-sway. The Half-Dragon, however, just stared at the black-masked figure in a long, unreadable silence—one that stretched on until the tension became unbearable.
"...What's wrong?" the young man finally asked, the edge of uncertainty in his voice betraying his calm tone.
The Half-Dragon's golden eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you planning to replace us or something?"
For a brief moment, no one moved. The words hung in the air like a challenge, sharp and unexpected.
Then—laughter.
The Half-Wolf barked out a loud chuckle, Mera let out a relieved giggle, and even the black-masked figure let out a soft, surprised laugh. All three of them burst into it at once, shaking the table and echoing through the quiet underground street.
"Hey! I'm being serious here," the Half-Dragon insisted, his voice half-pouting now, half-wounded pride.
"Haha! C'mon, do you think Renzo would do that?" the Half-Wolf said between laughs, nudging him with an elbow.
"You should trust big bro Renzo a little more," Mera added with a gentle smile, finally lowering her tail from her face.
Renzo himself—[Last Note of Black]—shook his head slowly, the laughter fading into something softer as he looked straight at the Half-Dragon.
"Never," he said firmly. "You three, Shizu, and... that, are the most important things in my life. So no worries, big bro Lorcas."
The firelight danced across the mask, but even without a face, they could all feel the honesty in his voice.
Lorcas smiled, his sharp teeth showing just slightly beneath the edge of his grin. "Good, good... If you add someone to that list, they better be approved by us, you hear me?"
Renzo let out a low chuckle, the sound muffled by his smooth black mask. "Sure, sure. But to pass Mera's tests? That's the hard part. I still remember—Shizu was... ahm, not well liked by you at first, right?"
The Half-Cat girl turned away quickly, her ears twitching in embarrassment. "I just... I just didn't know her that well at first, and she was... well, you know... mean," she mumbled. "So I thought she wouldn't make for a great wife to you... I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble."
Renzo laughed, light and easy. "Don't worry about it. All that's in the past. If anything, Shizu asks me about you every once in a while. Drop by our house sometime this week—I'm sure she'd love to talk to you."
"Really? She does?" Mera blinked in surprise, her tail swishing slightly behind her. "But then... why didn't she contact me at all? Is she also as busy as you are, big bro Renzo?"
"Uhhh... There is that, yes," Renzo said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "But another reason is... well, you know..."
The Half-Wolf, [Eyes That Never Sleep], stepped in with a knowing grin. "She's shy. Doesn't like showing emotions much. You know, the whole reason you thought she was mean when he first introduced her to us."
Mera's eyes widened slightly before her face lit up in understanding. "Ahhh, got it, got it!" She nodded enthusiastically. "Then I'll make sure to visit."
The conversation between the four flowed easily, like a stream long dammed by time and finally freed.
Lorcas spoke with pride about the new abilities he'd recently added to his X Ranked Original Story, [Golden Scales]—a devastating area burst technique that hardened his skin like molten armor and another that let him fire piercing golden beams from his claws. His excitement was hard to contain, and the others listened with genuine interest.
Arden, ever the proud one, bragged a little about how he managed to push [Eyes That Never Sleep] all the way to X Rank. "Took me forever, but hey, I didn't let up. Still the sharpest pair of eyes in the Story World, if I do say so myself."
Mera, not one to stay quiet for long, joined in with a more grounded tone. She talked about her C Ranked Story, [Bizarro Chef], and how business hadn't exactly been booming. "Not many clients these days… Most people walk up, see the menu, and just… turn around."
She sighed, then perked up again. "So I was wondering, do you guys know any better places I could set up shop at?"
"Also, can you tell your teammates about my stall? You know, sell them the idea for me?" She added after a moment.
Lorcas and Arden exchanged a quick glance before nodding.
"We'll try for sure," Lorcas said, thumping his chest.
"Yeah, we'll let our teammates know," Arden added.
Though a beat later, he scratched the back of his neck. "But uh... not many people are ready for your kind of cooking, you know? The bizarre stuff kinda filters the crowd."
Mera crossed her arms with a puffed cheek. "Well, some people have no taste."
The trio laughed again, and the fire crackled as the warmth between them deepened, the underground city buzzing quietly in the background, unnoticed.
After a while, Renzo stood up, brushing the crumbs from his black suit. "Welp, gotta go back home for now. Shizu's gonna give me an earful for staying out so late… She's already been pestering me over messages, threatening to kill me if I don't get back soon enough."
Lorcas burst into laughter. "Hahahaha! See, that's exactly why I'm not getting married anytime soon. I enjoy my freedom too much, I tell you."
Arden let out an exaggerated sigh and shook his head, clearly a little disheartened. "Tsk, stop bragging about having someone care and wait for you at home… Ugh, my chances with women are not doing well at all. The moment they hear the name of my story... they all run away."
Mera couldn't help but chuckle at that, tail flicking playfully. "Well, you should've thought long and hard before naming your Story [Eyes That Never Sleep]... It's a little creepy, I'll admit."
Even Renzo let out a muffled laugh, the mask unable to hide the amused tilt of his head. "She's not wrong, you know."
"See, even my own little sister thinks the same," Arden muttered, slumping in mock despair. He hung his head, sighing as if the world had turned its back on him.
Lorcas clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder with a hearty laugh. "Bah!! Believe me, freedom is better than all this marriage stuff. You'll be begging for it once you get with someone."
Renzo, still half-turned to leave, paused and looked back at Mera, tilting his head slightly. "What about you? Not planning to settle down any time soon?"
Mera shook her head, her red fur ears flicking. "No one interesting around here. Besides, there was one guy I thought was nice... but big bro Arden did a little digging… hehe, through his eyes."
The group broke into laughter, the tension of earlier melting away again. Arden looked away, clearly embarrassed, trying to defend himself. "Hey, I was worried about you, okay? He seemed nice, but turned out he was part of the Seven Wounds. The Cut, at that."
The laughter stopped for a beat as that name settled over the group like a shadow. Then, Mera crossed her arms and huffed. "Yeah. So, yeah. No thanks."
"Good instincts, Arden," Renzo said with a nod, voice just a little heavier now.
"Tsk, those pieces of garbage all deserve to die," Lorcas muttered, his expression darkening, eyes burning with quiet fury.
Renzo nodded, the weight of agreement in the slow incline of his head. Then, with a quieter tone, he stepped away from the table. "Anyways, I'll come visit again tomorrow. I'm mostly free for the coming week, so I'll be around."
"Same time tomorrow?" Arden asked, already perking up at the thought.
Renzo gave a small nod. "Yup, same time. See you all then."
With that, he turned his back to them, raising one hand in a lazy wave as he began to walk away—his silhouette vanishing into the soft, glowing lights of the underground city.
...
[Last Note of Black] was a Z Ranker—one of the rare few to ever reach the pinnacle of power in the Story World. Only around a hundred or so such individuals existed, and even among them, he was an anomaly.
Most Z Rankers eventually aligned themselves with powerful factions or created forces of their own. Be it the sprawling intelligence web of the Blue Trade Organization, the political giants of the Council of Eight, the elusive assassins of the Shadow Circle, or the enigmatic beings under the Fairy Crown—each of the 13 great Factions of the Story World had their fair share of titans.
And even those who didn't belong to these titanic groups had something behind them—an order, a team, or even a crew. The Seven Wounds, the League of Heroes, or other infamous collectives always surrounded Z Rankers.
But not the [Last Note of Black].
He stood alone. No banner. No flag. No chain of command to follow or impose. Just him... and recently, the quiet company of the [Owl]—another Z Ranker, just as feared, just as isolated.
Two shadows walking the sea of stories together.
Renzo walked slowly, hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes tapping against the dark blue tiles echoing through the quiet underground streets. As a Z Ranker, he had the wealth, fame, and power to buy out an entire floor in the Black District—one of the 13 most influential Territories in the Story World, a place where only the elite roamed.
But he hadn't.
Instead, he and his wife lived in a modest apartment tucked away on an average-looking street on the fifth floor. No guards. No servants. No lavish displays of wealth.
The reason was simple: he didn't care where he slept—only that he had a place to return to. And even that was more symbolic than anything else. Both he and Shizu were wanderers, constantly traveling across Fragments and Territories, answering calls from far-off stories and fighting battles that most couldn't even imagine.
Home, for them, was never about walls. It was about finding each other in the chaos.
So Renzo continued walking slowly, unhurried in his pace, his steps measured and steady. He wasn't the type to rush, even if he was mentally bracing himself for the inevitable lecture waiting for him at home. Shizu didn't take well to tardiness—especially his. And yet, even as he sighed at the thought, there was a small smile beneath his mask.
That fire in her, that sharp edge—that's what made her special to him. Annoying, sure. But also irreplaceable.
The streets were mostly deserted this late at night. Silence clung to the walls and walkways like a second skin. The underground city didn't sleep in the way surface towns did, but it had its own rhythm—its own artificial day and night.
There was no ceiling to show stars or moon, only a vast dome of dark rock overhead. The lighting here was always dim, filtered and regulated by the governing system. During the day, artificial lamps powered by energy lit up the walkways and storefronts, mimicking sunlight just enough to keep the city alive. At night, most of those lights shut off automatically, leaving only scattered glows near key areas—enough for late wanderers to find their way, but never enough to feel warm.
It was how people here knew the time, aside from clocks: the lights were their sky. And tonight, that sky was mostly dark.
The Black District was one of the 13 great Territories of the Story World, and like the rest, it was under the watchful eye of a major Faction. In this case, that Faction was the CEM Hunters.
CEM—short for Concept Eating Monsters—were unlike anything else that roamed the Fragments. They weren't Reciters, Players, or even Readers. They were the only true monsters of this world, creatures not bound by reason, dialogue, or motive. They did not follow storylines, obey logic, or yield to power through negotiation. They simply existed, and in their existence, they consumed what should not be consumable: ideas, meanings, emotions—concepts themselves.
Some were small, pest-like and relatively harmless, more nuisance than threat. Others, however, were walking catastrophes, capable of wiping out entire narratives or devouring the abilities of a high-rank Player in a single moment. They were as mindless as animals but carried the weight of calamity within their existence.
And so, the Faction that had taken root here—the CEM Hunters—made it their mission to track, study, and eliminate these anomalies wherever they appeared. It was no surprise they governed the Black District. This place, with its underground sprawl and flickering lights, had always drawn the strange and the unstable.
As Renzo continued forward, something caught his attention—a flicker of movement tucked away in the shadows of a narrow alley between two buildings. He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
There, half-hidden by crates and gloom, was a small figure. A child. Short messy white hair. Black horns curved slightly back from its head. Red skin. The whites of its eyes were an eerie yellow, and its pupils were pure black voids. The child was clutching a black coat tightly around itself, trembling, as if the fabric could make it disappear completely.
It glanced around in panic—until its eyes landed on him.
Renzo froze. The child froze too. Neither moved, like two wild animals unsure of the other's intent.
'Are they scared of me?' he thought, trying to study the tiny figure without making it worse. 'They look like a boy… but I can't tell children apart if I'm being honest… Either way… What's a child doing here in the middle of the night?'
He couldn't just walk away. That wasn't who he was.
Slowly, deliberately, Renzo took a step forward, raising his hands to show he had no weapons drawn. His voice softened.
"I'm not here to hurt you... I... Ughhh, Ahm, my name is Renzo, what's yours?"
Renzo stopped a couple of steps away as he noticed the child shrink back, taking a cautious step in retreat. Their small fingers gripped the coat tighter, pulling it up like a shield, as though afraid Renzo might lash out at any second.
The hesitation wasn't unfamiliar. Renzo had seen it before—too many times. The fear of the unknown. Of someone stronger. Of someone different.
But he didn't move closer. He let the silence hold for a moment, giving the child space.
He wasn't worried about being understood. In the Story World, everyone was bound to the Story System. And one of its most subtle but powerful functions was ensuring universal communication.
Even if he had accidentally spoken in a different language, the System would override that for the listener. The child would hear his voice, clear and steady, in words they could understand—translated seamlessly by the System.
It was how civilization functioned here. And right now, Renzo was silently grateful for it.
—End of Chapter.
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What are you doing here?
Gara: Hey! I was chosen to comment on this first chapter, why you ask? Why not I ask back. Ahm, now let us start. First, we got a cool opening scene I guess, but like it's boring, skip all the dialogue and get to the action already. I mean, you introduce a freaking Z Ranker and X Rankers and you expect me to be satisfied with a conversation? C'mon now!!
Renzo: Can you just stop? Go back to your own story or I'll come down there and wreck you.
Gara: Huh... I'd like to see you try, you think just cause you're a Z Ranker you can cause chaos in the White Clouds? We got [Grey Rose] here waiting for you.
Renzo: You're dumb aren't you? You know me, a Z Ranker, killing an F Ranker like you won't even reach the ears of Duke Ren to begin with, right?
Gara has left the chat and sent an apology to the [Last Note of Black].