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…
Felix's eyes shot open. A blinding white light flooded his vision, forcing him to squint as he adjusted to his surroundings. The atmosphere felt oddly familiar—eerily similar to Dave's office.
"EEK!"
A sudden, exaggerated screech startled him.
"Oh, hey there!"
Felix turned toward the source of the voice—a man sitting backward in a chair, grinning like an absolute menace. His chiseled jawline and refined features gave him an elegant, almost European look. Dark brown hair, neatly groomed, added to his polished demeanor.
"Man, ya keeled over! Kekeke~"
Felix groaned, attempting to shake off the haze clouding his thoughts.
The stranger raised both hands in mock surrender.
"Relax, I didn't do a thing. You were already on your way down when you—" He suddenly burst into laughter.
"'Cosplayer!' Bwahahahaha!"
Felix's eyes widened. Oh, for the love of—
Before he could react, the man pointed directly at the woman beside him.
Thwack!
Her swift smack silenced him instantly.
She turned to Felix, her expression cold and sharp. But strangely enough, he found himself unable to meet her gaze—not because of intimidation, but because of the ridiculous scene unfolding beside her.
The guy was biting his tongue in pain.
Felix exhaled. At least something about this was refreshing.
The woman was... breathtaking. Not in a conventional sense, but in an unnervingly ethereal way. Her deep purple locks, darker than night itself, cascaded over her shoulders. She possessed a deadly presence—one that sent a shiver down his spine.
But it wasn't her beauty that made Felix's heart skip.
"Names?"
Her voice was firm—neither shrill nor soft, but carrying a weight of authority.
Felix hesitated.
"Uh... sorry, what?"
Her gaze sharpened, brimming with an almost murderous intent.
"Don't play dumb. There's no way you should've been able to enter the Rift. And yet, you not only survived, you held your ground against the looters." She leaned forward, her piercing stare unrelenting. "Moreover..."
Felix tuned her out. He wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at—her tone was so flat that it was hard to gauge whether she was truly pissed or just always like this. But then, something caught his eye.
The other man was pointing directly at his arm.
Felix followed the gesture and—
"...What in the fuck is this!?"
He recoiled in horror.
An intricate symbol had been etched into his skin—a goblet, adorned with delicate Celtic knots and patterns. The craftsmanship of the mark was flawless, each detail intertwining in an illusion of shifting colors.
Felix frantically licked his palm and began scrubbing at it.
"Why won't it come off!?"
The woman raised a hand, clearly prepared to strike him again, but an older voice intervened.
"That's enough."
The impact of the words alone was enough to make her lower her hand. Not in submission—Felix noted—but out of respect.
The owner of the voice finally stepped forward.
An elderly man with silver-gray hair, combed neatly back. His thick mustache and disproportionate sideburns gave him an air of wisdom—though the way he examined Felix from every angle, stroking his beard in thought, made him seem more curious than concerned.
"...Come with me," he said.
Felix blinked.
"Eh?"
And just like that—his world had taken another unexpected turn.