Time seemed to slow in a way only Felix could perceive. The two figures lingered just beyond his reach, while a third crept within his peripheral vision—clutching a bluish knife that gradually shifted to an eerie infrared hue.
'I can see everything.'
As the blade neared his throat, Felix subtly twisted his body, guiding the motion to match the weapon's force and trajectory. In the midst of his evasion, another dagger came hurtling toward him—mere inches from his eyes. With a mere fingertip grazing the ground, he redirected his weight, bending backward in a near-perfect arc, narrowly dodging the blade as it skimmed the tips of his hair.
Momentum carried him into a seamless backflip, the thrown dagger embedding itself into the nearby wall. Using the fluidity of his movement, Felix seized the attacker by the hip and swept his legs out from under him, his grip snaking down to the knee in a practiced maneuver. With a calculated pivot, he shifted his weight forward, forcing his opponent off balance before swiftly capturing the wrist and redirecting the arm—ensuring not a sliver of space remained between them.
A deft flick to the Achilles tendon sent the enemy stumbling. With one final motion, Felix lifted and spun his adversary through the air, executing an uncounterable ippon-seoi-nage—sending him crashing into the unforgiving concrete.
[BAM!]
Felix exhaled sharply, his breath trembling as time resumed its natural flow. Despite the advantage this heightened perception granted, it left his body in turmoil—his consciousness struggling to keep pace with his failing lungs, like a diver gasping for air without his oxygen tank.
The remaining two assailants stood frozen. It wasn't just the brutal sound of impact that rattled them—it was the sheer, undeniable skill Felix had displayed in less than three seconds.
One of them finally stirred, tilting his head slightly as he removed his mask and scarf. His exposed face bore jagged scars, his lips twisting into a grin that was more unsettling than amused.
"..."
The other hesitated, preparing to charge, but the unmasked man lifted a hand to halt him.
"I'm intrigued," he murmured, stroking his chin as he alternated his gaze between Felix and the downed fighter.
"I'd love to chat, but I think we've wasted enough time."
He turned to leave, but just before disappearing, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. One-third of his scarred face remained visible as he delivered his parting words—less a question, more a threat.
"Tell me... you're not one of them, are you?"
Felix felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"I hope not."
[Woosh~]
"...Eh?"
In an instant, they vanished, leaving their fallen comrade behind.
For a moment, Felix simply stared, stunned by the abruptness of it all. Then, his eyes drifted downward.
His macchiato lay in ruins on the pavement.
"...Shit!"
A pang of loss struck him as he scanned his surroundings, considering whether the remaining contents in his La Bibiana cup were still salvageable. But his mourning was short-lived. His attention shifted to a figure slumped against the alley wall—a frail old man, forgotten in the shadows.
"Oh, shit—sorry."
Just as he moved to approach, a sudden chill prickled his skin. A cold, metallic edge pressed against his shoulder.
Felix stiffened.
From beside the old man emerged another figure—distinct from his previous attackers. Unlike them, this one wore no mask, instead clad in a long coat with an unfamiliar emblem stitched into its torso. Though the symbol could easily be mistaken for an ordinary design, something about it felt... significant.
"Fortunately, we arrived just in time," the newcomer murmured.
Felix inhaled sharply. Every instinct screamed fight or flight. But before he could act—
His knees buckled.
The world blurred. He was falling.
A shadowed silhouette—a woman—appeared above him, her voice distant and distorted as she approached.
Felix struggled to form words, barely managing a weak murmur.
"Cos..."
"He's saying something," the stranger noted, glancing at his companion.
Felix's fading consciousness clung to one final thought.
"Cos... player..."
"..."
And then, darkness.
••••••
Later…
I jolted awake, eyes stinging from a blinding white light. I squinted, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Was I... in Dave's office? No, definitely not. Everything was too sterile, too quiet.
"EEK!"
I jumped. What the hell?!
I whipped my head around to find a guy sitting backward in a chair, grinning like a maniac. His jawline looked like it was sculpted by an ancient Greek god, and his hair was far too perfect for someone who was apparently having the time of his life at my expense.
"Man, you keeled over! Kekeke~"
I groaned, shaking off the dizziness.
"Ugh, what the~"
The guy raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Relax... You were already on your way down when you—" He burst out laughing. "Looking like you walked out of a cosplay convention!? Bwahahaha!"
My eyebrow twitched. I wasn't sure if I should be offended or just go with it. Before I could decide, he pointed at the woman beside him.
Thwack!
Her slap was so loud, I almost felt it. The guy winced, rubbing his neck. At least there was justice in the world.
I turned my attention to her. She wasn't... conventionally beautiful, but there was something about her that made me nervous. Dark purple hair, a gaze that could cut through metal, and an aura that screamed, "Don't piss me off." I stared at the floor, deciding I didn't want to test her patience.
"Names?" she demanded.
"Uh... sorry, what?" I blinked. Was she talking to me?
Her glare was so intense I could practically feel it on my skin. "Don't play dumb. You survived the Rift and held your ground against the looters."
I opened my mouth, but honestly, I had no idea how to answer that. Before I could say anything, the guy was pointing at my arm.
My eyes followed through his finger and—
"...What the hell is that!?"
A symbol. A goblet, covered in intricate Celtic patterns. It was on my skin like it had always been there. What the—?
"Why won't it come off?!" I frantically rubbed at it, but it didn't budge.
The woman raised her hand like she was about to slap me again, but before she could, a voice cut through the tension. "Enough."
An old man stepped forward, silver-gray hair perfectly combed back. He looked like the type who would give you life advice and then steal your wallet.
"...Come with me," he said, his voice calm but... important.
I blinked.
"Eh?"