[System]: Welcome, new player.
[Choose your name: ______ ]
I smirked. Of course, I would pick the best, most cursed, most anti-Italy name imaginable.
I typed it slowly, savoring each keystroke.
[PAPA PIA]
The system paused. A single ellipsis blinked on the screen.
[System]: …Are you serious?
[System]: This name is flagged as highly inadvisable. It may cause emotional damage to other players.
[System]: Confirm? Y/N
I slammed Y without hesitation.
[System]: Congratulations! Your new identity is: [PAPA PIA].
[System]: May the gods have mercy on your soul.
Somewhere, faintly, I swear I heard an Italian chef weep.
[System]: Now, player currently flagged on the Hit List. Please select your class.
[Main Classes Available]: Warrior, Mage, Assassin, Druid, Warlord, Necromancer…
[Subclass Options]: Chief, Herbalist, Bookkeeper, Thug…
I squinted at the menu.
[Grey]: Can I… take a Subclass as my Main class?
A pause. The text box actually trembled.
[System]: …Excuse me?
[Grey]: Like… full-time Bookkeeper. Or, y'know, Main Class: Herbalist. Sounds fun.
Another pause. Then—
System]: Player flagged on Global Hit List. Please select your Class.
[Main Classes Available]: Warrior, Mage, Assassin, Druid, Warlord, Necromancer…
[Subclass Options]: Chief, Herbalist, Bookkeeper, Thug…
I squinted at the glowing menu.
[Grey]: …Can I make a Subclass my Main class?
The cursor froze. The text box wobbled, as if the code itself had just been slapped.
[System]: …Excuse me?
[Grey]: Yeah. Like… Main Class: Bookkeeper. Or Herbalist. Or… ooooh—what if I went full-time Chef?
The text box shuddered as if it were offended.
[System]: This game has a balanced approach. Lore. Prestige! You don't just walk in and—
[System]: NO ONE mains Chef.
I tapped Confirm with the casual glee of a war criminal signing peace treaties in crayon.
[Grey]: Too late. Chef META incoming.
[System]: …F-fine. Main Class: Chef.
[System]: Subclass automatically locked to: PAPA PIA.
[System]: [Global Announcement]: A new heresy has been born.
[System]: We're all doomed.
The interface dissolved into a splash screen of villages spinning past like I was on a cursed travel brochure.
[System]: Choose your Starting Village.
[Option 1]: Pearlwind Harbor – thriving fishing town.
[Option 2]: Stonefang Hollow – crime-ridden mining colony.
[Option 3]: Dawnpetal Meadows – aggressively wholesome farming community.
[Option 4]: Ashveil Crossing – already on fire.
I leaned back, tapping my chin.
[Grey]: Hm. Pearlwind Harbor. Seafood's close. Plenty of people to poison test recipes on.
[System]: Starting Village confirmed: Pearlwind Harbor.
[System]: Population: 32,421 hardworking fisherfolk.
[System]: Estimated time until catastrophic culinary disaster by [PAPA PIA]: 2–5 business days.
The loading screen flickered to life—calm blue sea, seagulls looping over whitewashed docks, little fishing boats bobbing like postcards.
I grinned, my teeth catching the glow of the loading light.
[Grey]: …Let's make some seafood.
[System]: Oh, merciful god help them.
The world snapped into focus with a wet pop, like someone had slapped reality with a fish.
I opened my eyes to see Pearlwind Harbor sprawled before me — crooked docks, salt-stained taverns, and fishermen arguing over whose catch smelled less like regret.
And standing right in the middle of the town square… was my entire group.
[Grey]: …Oh, for Void's sake.
[Maple]: G-Grey! You're here too!
She waved from the fountain, dressed in heavy armor that sparkled like it had been sponsored by a children's cereal brand. Her shield was already bigger than two villagers combined.
[Rimuru]: Heh, I spawned as a Slime Mage! Look!
He splorts and casts fireslimeball at a seagull
The seagull exploded into digital feathers. An old fisherman screamed.
[Klee]: POWDER KEG CLASS, LET'S GOOOO!
Half the docks were already smoking. The villagers were fleeing like NPCs in a bad patch update.
Doctor adjusts his plague bird mask, holding a recipe book
[Doctor]: Interesting… they've given me "Plague Alchemist" by default. How quaint.
He uncorked a vial, dropped it on the cobblestones, and half the market immediately shut down from toxic fumes.
Meanwhile, Technoblade stood by the fishmonger's stall, a pig mask pulled over his head, casually buying potatoes.
[Technoblade]: They let me roll Farmer. I've already broken half the economy.
A small notification popped up in front of me:
[System]: Warning! Player Group Detected.
Party Composition: 1 Chef, 1 Explosion Goblin, 1 Slime Mage, 1 Walking Biohazard, 1 Sparkle Tank, 1 Farmer Overlord.
Estimated Time Until Village Collapse: 47 minutes.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
[Grey]: I said "log into my world to pass the time," not "speedrun civilizational collapse."
Ammar — now rocking edgy anime protagonist hair — appeared from behind a stall, juggling knives he clearly hadn't bought.
[Ammar]: My lady! Look! I got a lucky Assassin class!
[Grey]: …I should've left you with the living armor that I forgot his name.
The villagers were staring at us with the same expression you'd give a tidal wave that politely introduced itself before drowning you.
A fisherman whispered: "...PAPA PIA."
And just like that, the entire square dropped to one knee.
[System]: WARNING. Cult Formation Event Triggered.
Local religion: [Sea Mother's Blessing] has been overwritten by [The Order of Papa Pia].
[System]: This is why we don't let players main Chef.
[Grey]: …Well. That escalated quickly.
[Maple]: Um… Grey? Did we just… overthrow a religion by logging in?
[Rimuru]: Technically, she didn't overthrow it. She sautéed it. Big difference.
[Klee]: Papa Pia! Papa Pia!
The villagers echoed like a choir possessed.
"PAPA PIA! PAPA PIA! PAPA PIA!"
[System]: ALERT. Unauthorized Religion Spreading.
Village Faith Conversion: 87% → 92% → 99%...
Achievement Unlocked: Messiah Speedrun Any%
[Doctor]: Fascinating. I've seen cults form before, but never one based on… culinary excellence.
[Technoblade]: Don't underestimate it. With her leading, even the potatoes are probably sacred relics now.
Sure enough, one villager held up a single boiled potato like it was the Holy Grail.
[Villager #1]: Behold, the Eye of Papa Pia!
[Villager #2]: The starch of salvation!
[Grey]: No. No, no, no—stop that! Put the potato down! It's not holy, it's lunch!
The villagers froze. Then, reverently, they whispered in unison:
"…Lunch."
The system beeped.
[System]: New Title Earned: [Lunchbringer].
Passive Effect: Villagers will now treat any meal you cook as a divine miracle.
My jaw clenched.
[Grey]: I swear on all the void, if this turns into Hollowborne Crusade 2: Blood Boogaloo over a damn fish stew—
[System]: —EVENT TRIGGERED: [First Holy Feast of Papa Pia].
The villagers began dragging tables into the square. Drums pounded. Lanterns lit. Someone was already slaughtering a pig while chanting my name.
[Rimuru]: …I think the tutorial just skipped itself.
[Grey]: Of course it did. Because why not?
[Klee]: Yay! Festival time! Can I blow up the cake?
[Grey]: …You know what? Fine. At this point, it'd probably count as a sacrament.
We all looked at each other, then the others arrived.
The air shimmered. Portals cracked open like glass panes under stress, one after another.
First came Arakan, wings flaring like stormclouds, dragging two stunned shopkeepers behind him.
[Arakan]: They tried to charge me full price. I consider that treason.
Behind him, Noah descended like a fallen seraph, already radiating judgment so strong the nearby pigs spontaneously confessed their sins.
[Noah]: This world reeks of false divinity. Who dares—
The villagers cut him off, dropping to their knees again.
"PAPA PIA! PAPA PIA!"
Noah blinked, then slowly turned his glowing eyes on me.
[Grey]: Don't. Say. A word.
Noah blinked, then slowly turned his glowing eyes on me.
[Grey]: Don't. Say. A word.
Next came Mitsuha and Yuri, both carrying shopping bags, looking like they had just been dragged from a date.
[Mitsuha]: Grey, why does the town square look like a religious uprising?
[Yuri]: …And why are they chanting "Papa Pia" like it's the end of the world?
[Mitsuha]: U-um… I'm a Druid. Nature-y stuff, I guess?
[Yuri]: Assassin. But I prefer the subtle approach… silently rearranging your organs.
[Grey]: Good. Not too subtle, not too loud—just enough chaos.
I scanned the others.
[Arakan]: Warrior. Very loud, very angry, and very good at breaking things.
[Noah]: Mage. Elemental-ish. Capable of making villages question their life choices.
[Technoblade]: …Farmer Overlord. I grow stuff. Very deadly stuff.
[Ammar]: Assassin. Surprise everywhere. Very pointy.
[Grey]: Perfect. Now—names. I said it once, I'll say it again: we vanish from this world, we vanish from their memories, and we come back as legends—or nightmares.
I raised my hand, the void swirling slightly around my fingertips.
[Grey]: From this moment on, you're no longer yourselves. You are shadows and echoes of who you were. Pick your names wisely… or I will pick for you.
The group exchanged glances, hesitant but trusting. The village crowd still knelt, mouths moving in silent prayers to a culinary deity they didn't fully understand.
[Grey]: Time is short. Dungeon awaits. Classes set. Names ready… Let's disappear.
The sky darkened, the sea quivered, and the first rifts toward the dungeon appeared. The chant of "Papa Pia" lingered like a ghost in the breeze, but I didn't care. Today, we weren't just playing a game. Today, we became legendary chaos incarnate.
ChatGPT said:
[Somewhere else – The Capital]
Inside a dimly lit room, the Hellsing mafia family was in chaos. Sweat poured from the members like rivers in a storm, and a few were frantically scooping buckets of the stuff before it reached the reinforced door labeled "Do Not Disturb: Pasta Time".
[Mafia Member 1]: How do we tell the boss… it's on pasta time?
[Mafia Member 2]: We have to. We can respawn in the game, sure, but outside? One mistake and the family could be... erased. Just go. Give him the file.
[Mafia Member 1]: Fine… here goes nothing.
They opened the special door. Inside, at a mahogany table, sat a man eating a perfectly al dente plate of pasta. Sauce clung to his lips, his fork moved with inhuman speed, and his glare could slice through steel.
[The Man]: I only needed one of you. Speak… or suffer for interpreting my pasta time.
[Mafia Member 1]: Boss… here.
He handed over the envelope. The moment it touched Nero de Hellsing's hands, one of the mafiosos despawned entirely, replaced instantly by a bloodied towel on the floor.
[Nero]: MAMA MIA! HOW DARE HE DO THIS!
He ripped open the envelope. Inside: a bounty notice. One name stared back at him like a challenge scrawled in fire: PAPA PIA.
[Nero]: Pineapple… on… pasta?!
His eyes burned like molten lava. The forks on his table rattled, knives levitated slightly, and the scent of garlic turned bitter.
[Nero]: This is unacceptable! I… I will personally teach this… this abomination respect!
He slammed the table so hard that the chandelier trembled, casting chaotic shadows across the trembling mafiosos.
[Nero]: I will crush this "PAPA PIA" before he even knows what al dente means!
Outside, the city held its breath, unaware that a full-scale culinary mafia war was about to erupt.
[Chapter end]