Episode 16. I Picked C. (4)
“S-so, for now, let's leave it like this. What else was left to do...?”
They'd reached a simple conclusion about the players buried in the ground. To Sephirah, it felt a bit tragic that they'd lucked into connecting to this world but couldn't enjoy it. Though she didn't like there being too many players either.
“We just need to check on the players you left behind.”
“Ah, those guys.”
Sephirah's eyes flashed as if she'd just remembered something she'd forgotten. But she didn't seem to think it was important, her expression quickly settling back.
“Right, we should check on 'em... Let's wrap those up quick.”
“You sound like your motivation just tanked.”
“No hype. You feel it too, right?”
Sephirah wilted like a dry plant. Maybe she lost interest once she'd seen all their cards.
“But hey, it's a rare chance for a comparison?”
“Hmmmph.”
Sephirah clamped her mouth shut and made a weird noise. It was a historic moment—the first time they'd encountered a group of players in a safe situation—but...
“What's the point of checking them out? If they know more than me, cool. If not? From your perspective, they're just numbers to keep around for balance.”
“Harsh review.”
“Huh? Well... they were way easier than expected.”
Easier. Not a word that fit players. Especially not ones who'd survived that brawl.
“Easier?”
“Right? The ones padding out your numbers couldn't even move, using allies as shields. No resistance... At least Hasselhoff was humble.”
They look the part on the outside. Perfect to leave in this world.
Sephirah muttered. From Eldi to the others, players dressed in bizarre outfits like it was tradition. But did the fear and power match the freakish getups? Not even close.
They were a lot weaker than I thought.
Aiden recalled Sephirah's ominous competitive fire from moments ago. For someone like her, she'd probably hoped the other players were strong.
“Still, we need to decide how to handle them.”
“Got it. Just convince 'em not to cause trouble, yeah? Let's go.”
“W-wait a sec. Shouldn't we figure out what to say first?”
“Even if they won't listen, we've got the upper hand.”
Aiden took the lead. Claire matched his pace beside him, Sephirah trailing behind. Leaving players alive meant inevitable management headaches, but that was off the table now. If they didn't like it, just bury them.
* * *
Thud, thud, patter.
As they neared the players' spot, odd footsteps filled the space. Like bare feet scampering on stone floors. No need to see who was making that racket.
“Knew it.”
They'd just crested the stairs to the second floor where the sounds came from, and there it was—exactly as expected.
The players hadn't changed out of their weird outfits. Four of them circled one person, holding hands and spinning.
“Hoo...”
Down to four after one fled, but Hasselhoff was trapped in the center, unable to budge. Amid the horrific monsters clasping hands and whirling, he stood blankly, no complaints.
He had zero tolerance for “goblin” cosplay or theatrics.
“...!”
Then footsteps on the stairs. Aiden's group.
Spotting them, Hasselhoff felt a surge of relief—like wandering a Arabic-speaking country and finally seeing an English sign.
“...Help.”
Without hesitation, he pleaded to Aiden. His noble elderly avatar cracked a bit, but even now, the character's dignified expression held firm. Or maybe he just looked cool compared to the monsters around him.
What the hell are they doing?
Aiden sighed at the begging Hasselhoff, then approached the players staring at him. Couldn't they act normal for even a second?
“Stop harassing someone you can't even talk to. Focus here.”
Aiden yanked the nearest player. The hand-chain circle broke. Hasselhoff slipped out cautiously, and Aiden continued.
“First, answer my questions. Choices will pop up. You can do that, right?”
The players looked flustered at Aiden's words. Hard to tell with the scary masks, but...
They'd been staring at him, but now shifted to their personal UIs. Masks hid their eyes, but still.
“Yeah!”
“We can.”
“Sure!”
“Got it.”
Answers poured out, voices varied by personality. Surprisingly mixed genders.
Asked at once, but... they don't share a UI?
Right before replying, all four had looked straight ahead from their own perspectives. Even hearing the same question simultaneously, no shared UI.
Aiden filed that away.
“And you saw a stat go up from that chat. First talk, so just one filled.”
“...?”
“Yeah, right where the UI was.”
Players checked UIs, then Aiden, then each other. They couldn't grasp what was happening in their familiar game.
Aiden knew when choices appeared for players, and what messages showed. This game—and Aiden Oliver—never broke the fourth wall like this.
“Alright...”
Whatever they thought, Aiden pointed at the leftmost player.
“You first. How many chats to fulfill?”
“...”
This was a clear question. Their UIs must be up. Aiden pressed the silent player.
“How many?”
“...55.”
Prodded, the player spilled the unknown stat. Now wondering if they should have, they clapped a hand over their masked mouth.
Aiden called the next before they noticed.
“You. What's yours? Answer fast from now on.”
Each point of his finger got a reply: 55, 40, 80, 50. All between Sephirah's 30 and Hasselhoff's 100.
What the hell's the criteria?
Aiden's resigned expression grew complicated. Whatever, as long as they answered.
The stat was minimum chats for free talk beyond choices. No reward difference, but varying numbers meant something. Average around 50, but no clue why.
...Nothing more to learn.
Done here. Dragged in hours ago, they knew nothing of the player gatherings.
How to handle? Just lock 'em up?
Easiest, stress-free. No loose ends, guaranteed results.
Cuts dangerous player numbers.
Scales tipped. Couldn't relax leaving future players alive. Untrustworthy, so surveil—but teleporting players? Impossible. Even if Sephirah piled corpses behind his back, uncheckable.
Can't trust no one.
Scales tipped back. Initial recruitment idea stemmed from “shortages.” Info gaps, backup hands in danger. Players might band via belonging in crises, but Aiden had zilch. No issue, Sephirah wouldn't be here.
Or...
Thoughts dragged, time passed. Players crossed arms questioningly, Claire nudged teasingly.
Meanwhile, Aiden eyed a third unweighed option.
Kill 'em all. That works too.
His imposed system gave EXP for harming foes. Killing experience-rich players? Could surge ahead.
But no. Keeping safe ones builds power too.
[Manage players.]
[Manage player numbers.]
Choices a player would see. One decision shifts reactions, paths, endings. True branch point, irreversible.
Sephirah's “talk only when ready” made sense now.
Blink, unclench fist, exhale. Decided.
“This place is way different from what you knew.”
Players, distracted in silence, refocused on Aiden.
“Other players around. Unreal stuff happens for real, known events don't. You get it.”
They must realize. Just reminder.
Don't forget what's coming.
“Feel free to play player-style if hooked. But only if you follow common sense here.”
No killing, no destroying property. No evil acts.
This world too free for players, no morals enforced. They ignore basics.
“Disagree? Can't stay.”
Rules in others' turf. Aiden's terms for players.
Agree to play.
“Do you agree?”
Well? Do you?
