Episode 5: We Are Protagonists (4)
Rumble...
Right after the explosion rocked the air, the sound of bookshelves crashing down followed in a chaotic roar. Glass shattered, chairs splintered, and those who had leaped to their feet were thrown back by the shockwave.
"Now's our chance, you idiots!"
In the midst of the pandemonium, a woman kicked open the grand front door of the sprawling house and strode in.
"The boss was right—it actually worked!"
"Let's go!"
The mysterious woman thrust her hand forward with a sharp cry, and a group of thugs—faces hidden behind masks and hoods—burst into Satyr's home. They lunged for the priceless displays, but for all their boldness, their hands and feet moved with horrifying clumsiness.
That clumsiness was what foiled their attempt.
"Aaaagh!!"
"What the hell are you morons doing? Grab what you can and get out!"
"Boss, I tried to pick this up, but it's got protective magic on it!"
"Damn it, you guys are hitting the same barriers...!"
Sephirah, the woman dubbed "boss," hadn't anticipated this. She gnawed at her nails in frustration.
The spots where her minions had failed were the special vaults where Satyr—the house's owner—had curated her prized collections. Sephirah had figured NPCs might bypass the restrictions, but no such luck.
She'd thought it would be simple: neutralize the NPCs inside briefly and sweep the place clean.
Shit, this makes bringing these idiots pointless...!
The Player, Sephirah, stepped forward, one hand clutching unprotected magical artifacts from less secure spots. She could've just bought these legitimately without all this hassle, but snagging even scraps beat leaving empty-handed.
"Fine. You lot grab whatever you can carry!"
"Huh? But that one...!"
"You said you can't touch it! Why worry about it now?!"
They couldn't dawdle with dangerous NPCs looming. Somehow, things had played out to immobilize Satyr temporarily, but she wouldn't stay down long. If she stirred, no amount of levels would save them.
"Scatter now! I'll fast-travel ahead and wait!"
"Y-Yes, boss!"
The thugs bungled their exit to the end. Ignoring Aiden's group amid the blast debris, they stumbled away in their awkward fashions. Their leader vanished in a flicker of teleportation, while the rest fled through the breached door.
Those bastards...!
Aiden strained his unresponsive arm toward them, but it was futile. He could barely control his arm and eyes, let alone chase.
Thieves making off with loot, innocents crumpled nearby... In his fading vision, only the woman's red hair and starry eyes lingered.
Player encountered.
* * *
"Come now, dear, wake up."
"Ugh... my head's spinning..."
"Aiden, could you help lift the poor thing?"
"Uwaaaah..."
Claire had no choice but to rise, her aching head gripped by the villainous Aiden. She hadn't even pieced together what had happened. A massive boom, blinding flash, flung aside—and then blackout.
"...What the hell was that?"
"Thieves broke in, dear."
"Ah... But you seem awfully calm about it."
The attackers were obvious bandits: bombs to stun Satyr, manpower prepped for a raid. Luckily, their incompetence meant only cleanup hassle—no major losses.
"It happens now and then. Most don't even get close before we chase 'em off."
"Those ones seemed to succeed, though."
"Pfft, they didn't snag anything worthwhile."
Satyr chuckled lightly, picking up a printout from the device on her desk—which had apparently been wrecked moments ago.
"Leaves us traces like this for tracking. Whoever touched the protected stuff will lose use of that arm in days."
"..."
"Oh, and the log shows one bumped into you, Aiden. How did I miss that?"
Claire was speechless. Made sense for someone hoarding treasures here to have defenses like that.
Come to think of it, the room looked pristine despite the blast mess. How had everything reset so flawlessly?
"Aiden, are you alright, dear?"
"...I'm fine."
"I have a favor to ask. Could you fetch those visitors from earlier? Even just one."
"Understood."
"What happened to you?"
Satyr tilted her head curiously. Aiden's expression was off—embarrassed? Shocked? Like he'd endured something awful. But he didn't elaborate.
"Do you know where they went?"
"I have records to reference. Enough for you?"
"Plenty."
"Uh, um..."
Claire, sandwiched between them, glanced back and forth awkwardly. Aiden's state was concerning but fixable later. Satyr seemed the most composed here anyway.
The issue was their private exchange.
"H-Hey, old man. You're going after those guys, right?"
"She asked. It's not like unpaid volunteer work."
"I'm not mentally prepped today. Didn't bring anything either."
"You won't die tagging along."
"Eugh."
Claire had no must-carry items. Her book summoned anywhere, and Aiden needed just his sword. Still, unease gnawed—his scary face persisted.
"Then, the thing you promised to show... next time, Satyr."
"Ah, right. Hold on, don't go yet."
"...?"
Satyr halted Aiden's departure, heading to a room. Rummaging loudly in what sounded like a storeroom, she returned with a cloth-wrapped item and handed it over.
"Here, try it out and let me know."
"...What is this?"
The feel was odd—long, feather-light. Unwrapping suggested...
"A spear?"
"What else would catch your eye, dear?"
"You said weapon collecting wasn't your hobby."
"I was being polite."
Yeah, that tracked. Her collections were her life's work, cherished more than praise for herself. Hence gifting curios to mere customers.
Scenario Denial: 9%
The System urged suspicion of such a person.
* * *
Sephirah was this game's protagonist.
Players always controlled protagonists, after all.
But did that hold now, off-script from the game's plot? Was she still "this game's protagonist"?
"Nice job, kiddo! For real!"
"...Really?"
"Duh! You slipped out of that showroom without a hitch—why so humble? Reformed bad guys are the best!"
Sephirah patted the boy's head twice, then dashed with him to their rendezvous.
He was the boy she'd coaxed from the Omake Room via chat. Thanks to him, she'd grasped NPC manipulation principles, ways to subdue hostile ones effectively—even coerce them into life-risking crimes.
Not quite "reform," on second thought.
"Told me to shut up and follow—what the hell did you make me do...?"
"Did I say shut up? Don't think so."
"You said follow or die."
Sephirah couldn't recall. But was forgetting normal? She'd picked vague options as a Player; no fine control over dialogue.
If she'd said it, blame the game—not her.
"You're capable, so I recruited you. Explanations later."
"I'm not that capable... Wait, you knew me?"
"Knew you, grabbed you. So?"
"I don't know you. Then what's my name?"
"Loqi Mendacium."
"...!"
The boy stared up, flustered. She'd never met him—no familiar face or description.
Yet this stranger knew his false alias. Per Loqi Mendacium's lore, he'd wonder that.
"Have we met?"
"Kinda one-sided. I know you way better."
"What? How'd you learn my name then?"
"Just know I really like you. That's enough."
Sephirah stuck to playful, evasive options. Mysterious, secretive, shadowy puppetmaster vibes.
All her choices skewed that way.
Soon, they reached the promised basement: the vast underground room, cleared of god-claiming dev statues and unused NPCs. Waste to abandon it—perfect meetup spot once.
"Cool. Wait here; the runners should circle back. Good work."
"Answer my question first."
"What was it?"
"How do you know me? Me, with no family!"
Persistent type. In-game absurdity, but "realistically" normal.
Couldn't answer honestly, though.
"I can see the future a bit."
"What?"
"Saw this convo coming."
The fourth wall. Fiction's taboo: dragging creators' reality into the work.
Couldn't say, "I'm a Player, so I know you'll be huge!"?
[16/30]
Even if possible, Sephirah wouldn't. Circumlocution it was.
So.
"You're gonna be the ultimate thief someday."
Hoping special NPCs bought the NPC fib.
