"Player Cien?"

"AAaaaahhhhh…"

Lucien staggered back with a violent jolt. His eyes snapped into focus the next instant, hands moving—only to freeze halfway as he recognized his caller.

"What the hell?! Adrian! I nearly slit your throat!"

Lucien glared at him with pure irritation.

"What are you doing lurking in the doorway this early? Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Adrian smiled sheepishly.

"I was thinking… since I brought you here… I wanted to help you get back."

Lucien stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Adrian, I might look like this, but I'm actually twenty-four years old."

Lucien wasn't wearing the charm Adrian had given him. The jagged scar slashing across his right eye was fully exposed. Upon closer inspection, he did indeed look his age.

Adrian chuckled softly, scratching the back of his head.

"Ah, you're quite funny, Cien. It has nothing to do with your age. Isn't it just common courtesy? It'd be pretty lonely on your way back… at least, that's what I think."

Lucien was momentarily taken aback.

'This guy—he's helplessly good… just like me!'

Adrian smiled shyly.

"You're looking at me quite strangely, Cien."

Lucien sighed and shook his head.

"It's pitiful. You remind me of myself in my younger days."

He started walking forward, and Adrian quickly fell into step beside him.

"Your younger days? But you're still young. Didn't you just say you're twenty-four?"

Lucien nodded.

"While you're correct, you're also incorrect."

He gestured casually as they walked.

"I like to divide the days I've lived into three parts. First, kindergarten—back then, I just followed orders. Then youth—my teens, granted I was stuck in classes with youths. That's when I discovered nothing in this world could truly satisfy me. Seeds of rebellion took root in my heart during that time. This happens to everyone forced to live under their parents' thumb—unless they're gullible, of course."

Adrian nodded attentively, clearly intrigued.

"Oh, and what would the final stage be?"

Lucien's lips curved into a slight smirk.

"Retirement."

Adrian tilted his head, puzzled.

"Retirement?"

"Yes. It's when I reap the fruits of my labor from my youth, and finally have the guts to rebel and face the consequences. It's the stage I'm at now—which is why I refuse to work and find purpose in wasting my life away in a game like this one."

Adrian nodded thoughtfully, then responded after several beats.

"This isn't a game, though. I think it's commonly understood that many players treat our world like some mere game. When you consider their ability to resurrect after death, it really leaves a bitter taste in the mouths of us natives. But don't mistake this for a game, Player Cien."

Lucien studied the handsome bartender as they walked in silence. Something about the way Adrian had called him out felt hostile, yes—but wrapped in such genuine warmth.

That was just Adrian's nature. The way he spoke revealed a man who was kind to his very core.

Lucien smiled and pulled him closer by the shoulder as they continued forward.

"Don't worry. It's as real for you as it is for me—right now, in this moment at least."

Adrian smiled shyly.

"You're not wasting your life either. I believe no one is truly capable of wasting their life."

Lucien clicked his tongue sharply.

"Hey, stop that! I'll cut you off right there. You didn't know me a few weeks ago, Adrian—don't go there."

"Waste is a mindset of regret, a volatile concept that measures effort input against expected output. Everything we do, every single day, generates effort—no matter how pointless it seems. And once effort is generated, we expect outcomes, even from the most ridiculous things. Calling something wasteful is just abuse and disrespect toward people's choices, rooted in regret over not making better decisions.

"When we fail, we often project that failure onto others. 'This guy should be doing something better with his life. That guy has so much potential—he's above this.' But it's unfair. It's merely a product of your own regret, projecting your personal image of success onto someone else—forgetting that person might not even want that"

Lucien mulled over the guy's words as they rounded a corner, finally entering his street.

It was strange but refined thinking—something most people overlooked.

Was waste even real?

When he was living his life, sleeping and refusing to do anything, had he considered it waste? No!

But his father had. Why? Because the man was projecting what he could have accomplished if he'd possessed his son's intelligence. Hence the crushing weight of his expectations. This birthed the definition of waste that he'd forced onto his son—which, naturally, led to Lucien's banishment from home.

So Adrian actually made perfect sense!

They stopped in front of the inn where Lucien was staying. It was a towering structure built with white brick, resembling a standard city building but more pristine and elegant. Even the street itself was flawlessly beautiful, lamp poles casting azure light across the cobblestones.

Lucien grinned and clapped Adrian's shoulder.

"Brilliant, friend! You've given me something worthwhile to chew on. You're sharper than you look, apparently."

Adrian raised an eyebrow, his perfectly sculpted, thick green brows arching slightly.

"...Apparently? Ouch. What did you think of me before?"

Lucien laughed.

"Some pompous brat."

He clapped him twice more before waving and striding away, vanishing into the building.

Adrian smiled as he watched Lucien disappear inside. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned and headed back the way they'd come.

As Lucien stepped into the inn, casually eager to see his baby dragon and catch some sleep before sunset, a cold, melodious voice cut through the silence.

"Hello, Player Cien."

Lucien froze and turned toward the speaker. It was early morning—around 6:10 AM. Usually at this hour, the inn's lounge area was deserted. The manager and attendants were typically bustling about since 5:00 AM, but Lucien's mind had been too preoccupied with obvious matters to notice before he'd left, and even now upon returning—until that voice snared his attention.

He tilted his head slightly.

"Excuse me?"

The person who'd called him sat on a round table in the vast hall. Jet-black hair, ivory skin, cold obsidian eyes. Her hair cascaded flawlessly down her shoulders.

She wore simple armor—a massive pauldron on her right shoulder that looked capable of impaling a beast, and a light ensemble that ended at mid-thigh.

She rose slowly, leaning on a long silver claymore.

"You're coming with me."

She struck like lightning, and Lucien's world plunged into darkness.

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