A young man with short black hair sat quietly in one of the paired seats lining the carriage. The seat beside him remained empty—two chairs fixed together, meant for companions, yet occupied by only one.
He wore a silver suit embroidered with intertwining thorns and creeping vines, every detail rendered in muted shades of grey and polished silver. The design carried an old-fashioned elegance, the kind once favored by gentlemen of a more refined era, at least according to Readers.
Around him, other Players filled the carriage, seated in rows that stretched beyond sight.
This was only a single section of the vehicle. Though it resembled an ordinary bus from the outside, its true length rivaled that of a train, divided into multiple carriages and capable of transporting vast numbers of Players.
It traveled endlessly through the Story World, stopping at one location after another, bridging distant lands with mechanical certainty.
The young man was named Nero Thomson.
He had boarded at the Silver Empire Station and had already spent an hour inside the moving giant. Several more hours remained before he would reach his destination—Fifth Town, nestled within the White Clouds.
A faint smile touched his lips as he entertained the thought that, had he boarded one of the transportation vessels reserved for those of his status, he would have reached his destination in no more than half an hour.
After all, his true identity was that of a prince of the Silver Empire.
His father was the esteemed Z Ranker, [Silver Emperor], a figure ranked among the top twenty strongest in the Story World. Behind that title stood the overwhelming might of one of the largest factions to ever exist—the Silver Empire itself.
Nero's real last name was not Thomson.
It was Silverus.
And beyond its borders, it was a name he could not afford to use.
His true appearance was concealed as well.
In a world where the Blue Trade Organization existed—and where someone as vital as him had his identity scattered across countless records—such precautions were unavoidable.
It was his father who had personally placed an illusion upon him. What others saw now was merely a different young man with black hair, not the real Nero.
Those above a certain level could see through the deception with ease. Yet anyone at such a level would never act against him.
To harm Nero would be to declare war upon one of the greatest factions in the Story World.
Only a madman would even consider it.
Nero was not entirely human.
He was part Metal—more precisely, Silver.
The Metal Species stood among the most renowned and powerful species in the Story World, rivaled only by the Dragon Species. They were humanoids born of metal rather than flesh, their kinds spanning steel, iron, silver, gold, platinum, and more.
Among them all, Silver reigned supreme.
Silvers were born with the strongest bodies in the entire Story World, their durability surpassing even that of the Dragon Species.
But Nero was only half Silver, and half human.
His father was a full Silver—the [Silver Emperor] himself—while his mother was an A Ranked human. She was not the Empress, but one of the many wives of the [Silver Emperor].
Because he was not a pure Silver, Nero was regarded with quiet disdain by the Imperial Court.
Whispers followed him in halls of silver and steel.
His siblings, however, were nothing like the court.
They loved him dearly.
He had many of them—ten, in fact. Four were older than him, and six younger. In total, there were eleven princes and princesses: seven sons and four daughters.
It was Nero who chose to leave the Silver Empire, to step away from the comfort and safety of home and venture into the Story World on his own.
Of his four older siblings, three had traveled the Sea of Fragments with the full backing of the Empire.
Only one older brother had walked the path alone.
That brother became Nero's inspiration.
He wished to follow in his footsteps.
And so, after a long period of persuasion—spoken pleas, unspoken resolve—his father and mother finally relented. The [Silver Emperor] agreed to let him go, but not without a condition.
If Nero were to die, he would be returned home safely.
And he would never be allowed to leave alone again.
Nero understood that death did not truly mean the end, as they were means of escaping being killled, and clearly his father had used one on him.
Yet it would still be the death of something precious—his dream.
The dream of becoming his own man, of standing on his own strength, and of carving his legend into the Story World without relying on the shadow of the Silver Empire.
For that very purpose, he had created an Original Story.
Its goal was simple, yet immense—to become something worthy of legend.
Nero would not lie to himself and pretend he lacked ambition.
He wanted to reach the peak.
He wanted Z Rank.
He wanted to stand among the great figures of the Story World, on the same level as his father.
But he also knew the truth.
That dream was vast—perhaps too vast.
So he settled for less. As long as his name became known, that would be enough.
Whether that path carried him to SS Rank, or even to X Rank, he would give everything he had to reach it.
To do so, however, he needed a plan.
For most Players, progression was slow. They lingered in weak Fragments, relied on Story Guards or Story Guides to shield them from real danger, all to avoid death at any cost.
But fear strangled growth.
Being too cautious meant it could take years—sometimes lifetimes—just to climb a single Rank.
That, however, could not be the answer.
Venturing into large Fragments might earn him experience, but it would never grant the attention he craved from Readers.
No—he needed something more.
And then, as he idly scrolled through the Blue Trade Records, it appeared before him: an Auction in Fifth Town of the White Clouds.
On offer was a certain E Ranked Ticket.
A ticket to what, you asked?
To the Final Express.
The train that crossed Fragment after Fragment, a creation of one of the two most renowned Reciters in the Story World—the Z Ranker known as the [Traveler].
This train was exactly what Nero needed.
Everyone followed its journeys, captivated by the promise of adventure, excitement, drama, mystery—every story imaginable wrapped into one unstoppable ride.
There was no question.
Nero had to get his hands on that ticket at the Auction.
Of course, he could always attempt to steal a ticket during the [Ticket Hunting] Event, set to take place in about two months at the Town of No Return.
But Nero was not confident in his own powers. Perhaps, if he used the Tied Story his father had gifted him—[Silver Prince]—he might succeed.
Yet that was impossible.
The Story was bound to his identity, to his father. Using it would not only expose him, it would also betray the very purpose of his journey: to rely on himself, not the might of the Empire.
He would have to rely solely on his second one—his Original Story, kept hidden from the public eye.
After some training and careful Core investment, it had grown to E Rank.
Its name: [The Place That I Forgot].
...
Nero's gaze swept across the carriage. Among the other Players were humans, Chromari, and Half-Animals—a humanoid species shaped like animals. Every type of Species seemed to be represented here, and most likely in the other carriages as well.
The bus itself was a model owned by a major company, one of the few that facilitated travel between the Regions of the Story World.
Of course, there were other transportation options: some only ferried Players to the Golden Space, for those seeking to challenge Fragments, while others traversed the Story World itself.
This, however, was one of the cheapest options. It would carry him from the Silver Empire all the way to Fifth Town in the White Clouds.
Relying on his Original Story meant Nero wasn't exactly wealthy; in truth, he was mostly poor. That was why he had chosen this cheap bus, the slow, crowded route from the Silver Empire to Fifth Town.
That also meant that he had borrowed a substantial sum from the Empire to afford the Final Express ticket at the upcoming auction—something he could never have secured on his own.
But he had borrowed, not taken. He intended to repay every Core.
It wasn't perfect—he wasn't creating his legend entirely on his own. Yet for the most part, every plan, every risk, every step forward was still entirely his.
This was still Nero's journey, shaped by his own hands.
He sighed. I confess, I find it most disagreeable to commence this journey leaning upon Father's generosity, yet… what alternative have I?
If I am to make a name for myself, to be known, I must secure passage upon the Final Express. And alas, I am hardly strong enough to attempt thievery in the [Ticket Hunting] Event.
Purchasing a ticket seems my sole viable course, and, it seems one shall be offered at auction in Fifth Town.
He turned his gaze to the window, the sprawling greenery of a distant city unfolding before him, and his thoughts wandered to the White Clouds.
I have trodden its streets but sparingly, mostly in the company of Lake or Dorothy, attending one of their whimsical Tea Parties. Thus, I know little of its alleys and avenues.
Yet from what I recall, it was charming—picturesque, truly. White clouds drifting, towers rising, wooden homes quaintly scattered…
A small, nervous laugh escaped him. How curious, that I find myself growing eager. To see it all with my own eyes… as an ordinary person this time, among others… quite unknown, yet thrilling.
Hehe… I cannot wait.
He sighed again, a tightness pressing on his chest. I… I am to travel alone… and… I cannot lean upon Father or any of the others… It feels… most peculiar, indeed.
And yet—Ha! The Final Express! I have observed it countless times in the Records… never once did it occur to me that I might board it myself one day… Can I truly manage it? It sounds… so daunting… so… uncertain.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he pondered the enormity of the dream.
A few moments of silence passed before he shook his head firmly. No, I must not allow fear to hold sway. Let me turn my thoughts elsewhere…
The Auction shall take place in Fifth Town… a place of which I know but little, save that it lies within the White Clouds… And… the incident with the Endborn of Nightmares… Ha! To think it was undone in an instant, destroyed utterly, and yet now it stands again, as if nothing had ever occurred.
Most curious, indeed.
He quickly banished thoughts of the Endborn, not wishing to unsettle himself further.
Instead, he shifted focus to the matter at hand: the Auction itself. Oramon… that is the name of the Auction House owner, if my memory serves me… Yes… it is.
Nero consulted his silver Story System Interface, confirming his recollections with the quiet precision of habit.
Very well… the individual auctioning the E Ranked Ticket to the Final Express is an E Ranked Player, [Whispers Beneath the Blackthorn].
A most… intriguing fellow.
I see he is acquainted with two others, equally interesting, both still E Rankers.
[Night Walker], of all people, who—quite surprisingly—also possesses a ticket to the Final Express, albeit a D Ranked one. I wonder… does he intend to ascend through D Rank and board with it? One cannot say…
And the last companion… what a peculiar name for a Story… [Reader]… Really? I had assumed such a designation long since claimed. Perhaps it was, and the owner has long since passed, leaving it to be Inherited? I cannot say.
In any case, it is… undeniably an intriguing Story Name.
Nero turned his gaze to the window just in time to see the bus descend, its great frame slowing as it prepared to land upon one of the designated platforms of a Town below.
The gentle dip in altitude pulled his thoughts back to the Auction—and to everything that could go wrong.
I must be cautious… exceedingly so, he thought. The ticket cannot be bought openly. If my name, or even the fact that I possess it, reaches the Blue Trade Records… I would not last a day. No—perhaps not even an hour.
Fortunately, Oramon's Auction House offered special VIP seating, spaces designed to conceal the buyers from all prying eyes.
Nero had secured one such seat in advance. He had no intention of allowing the world to know he had obtained an E Ranked Ticket to the Final Express.
If word spread, opportunists and madmen alike would descend upon him—likely even before the [Ticket Hunting] Event began.
And he knew his limits.
I am not strong enough to guard it… not yet, his thoughts wavered. If they come for it, what then? Could I flee? Could I hide? Or would I simply lose it all before my journey truly begins…?
A faint tension crept into his chest, his breath tightening as unease set in.
Then the bus touched down.
The landing jolted him gently back to the present as the doors of his carriage slid open with a soft mechanical hum.
Several Players rose from their seats and stepped out, while new faces entered in their place, the flow of travelers continuing as if nothing weighed upon the young prince's mind at all.
Seeking to calm his restless thoughts, Nero turned his attention to the open doors, watching the new Players board the carriage.
He studied them quietly, attempting to guess the kind of people they were.
A green-scaled Half-Dragon stepped inside first, followed by a red-skinned woman crowned with black horns. Yet most of the newcomers were human.
Among them was a young woman with short brown hair, dressed in practical green adventuring clothes. With so many passengers entering at once, she misstepped and collided with another newcomer.
The impact was small—but enough.
A faint clink echoed as a small crystal slipped from the man's hands and fell toward the floor.
The one she had bumped into was a young man with short black hair, clad in a long black coat. A silver sword rested across his back, and stitched into his coat was the unmistakable symbol of a silver knife.
The Cut.
One of the allied forces within one of the largest criminal organizations in the Story World—the Seven Wounds.
The moment Nero recognized the symbol, his stomach tightened.
Trouble was about to erupt.
The Cut were not known for kindness, nor for patience.
The young man spun around at once, his gaze locking onto the woman as fury twisted his expression.
"How dare you, you insect!" he screamed.
The carriage froze.
Conversations died mid-sentence, footsteps halted, and even those closest to him—those who had nearly shouted back in protest at having their ears assaulted—fell silent.
The moment their eyes caught the symbol sewn into his coat, any thought of confrontation vanished.
The Cut was not a name spoken lightly.
It was an organization that boasted two Z Rankers, numerous X Rankers, and countless powerful members beneath them. Its branches were spread everywhere throughout the Story World.
To be placed upon their blacklist meant relentless pursuit—day and night, without end.
And so, like most Players unaffiliated with other great powers, the passengers chose the wiser path.
They looked away.
And even setting the Cut aside, the young man himself was no ordinary threat.
He was clearly an E Ranker, standing close to the peak of his level—and he wielded an Original Story at that.
Most of the passengers, by contrast, were F Rankers relying on Borrowed Stories, or at best a handful of E Rankers who did the same. In this entire carriage, only Nero shared that distinction—an E Ranker with an Original Story of his own.
There was also a middle-aged man seated toward the back, bearing a D Ranked Borrowed Story. Borrowed or not, the difference between E Rank and D Rank was vast.
The young woman stumbled back a step, panic flashing across her face. She apologized hurriedly for dropping his crystal, then crouched to pick it up.
She never got the chance.
His leg lashed out without warning, slamming into her stomach.
The impact sent her sprawling onto her back, the air tearing from her lungs. She clutched her abdomen in agony, mouth opening but no sound emerging.
The young man looked down at her with open disdain.
"Pathetic," he sneered.
"Do you have any idea who you just touched?" His voice carried easily through the silent carriage.
"I am not like you insects. I walk with an Original Story, at the peak of E Rank, backed by the Cut itself. And you?" He gave a short, humorless laugh.
"You are nothing."
His gaze swept across the frozen passengers. "Look around you. Not a single soul will help you. Why would they?"
He spread his arms slightly. "They know better. They know what happens to those who forget their place."
Behind him, the doors of the carriage slid shut with a dull hiss. Moments later, the bus began to rise once more, its engines humming as it slowly took flight.
No staff appeared. No warnings were given.
The young man's eyes flicked briefly toward the back of the carriage, meeting the gaze of the middle-aged D Ranker. He gave him a small nod—acknowledgment between those who understood power.
The D Ranker scoffed softly, turning his head away, uninterested.
The young man looked back down at the woman, who still lay curled on the floor, trembling in silence.
"Remember this," he said calmly. "This is how the Story World works."
No one dared meet the young man's gaze.
Not Nero, not a single soul.
I... I cannot abide this… Nero thought, a tight knot forming in his chest.
She ought not to suffer so. Yet… what can I do? I… I lack the courage. My strength, my Original Story… it may not suffice against him. And if I intervene, without the name or protection of Father, the Cut… they will pursue me without mercy.
I am merely a common Player here, nothing more.
To interfere—foolish. Reckless. Dangerous.
The young man showed no mercy.
With cruel precision, he grasped the woman's hair, dragging her slightly as she shrieked for help, tears in her eyes. Her voice rose in terror, but it fell on deaf ears.
He laughed—dark, sharp, unrelenting.
"Pathetic," he spat.
"You thought this world would grant you kindness? You imagined rescue? That there would be someone brave enough to intervene? Ha! Look at them—silent, cowed, aware of their inferiority. And you, little morsel, are alone. Alone and powerless."
He leaned closer, voice cold and taunting. "No one dares aid you here. Not a single soul. You are merely another lesson for them, another reminder of the hierarchy, the law of the strong. And I—am superior. Remember it well, for it will serve you for the rest of your miserable existence."
Nero's fists clenched, jaw tight, but he could only watch.
The words cut deep, the sight before him, unbearable—and yet he felt the full weight of his own inadequacy pressing down.
The young man continued his cruel tirade, dragging the girl's hair as she wailed and begged for someone—anyone—to intervene.
"Please! Someone help me!"
"No one will," he sneered, voice sharp as a blade, amusement curling in his tone.
Then a voice cut through the chaos: "Let her go."
The laughter faltered.
He raised his head and saw a young man standing before him—short black hair, a silver-grey suit, bearing himself with calm authority.
Nero.
Inside, Nero's mind raced, wild and panicked, every nerve screaming with fear. What am I doing? I cannot—he is too strong! I—he will destroy me!
Yet outwardly, not a trace of terror showed.
He planted his feet firmly on the floor, shoulders squared, and repeated himself, voice steady and commanding:
"Let her go."
The carriage seemed to hold its breath, every eye drawn to the standoff, the contrast between the raging aggressor and the young man who, though terrified within, refused to yield.
The young man laughed, a harsh, mocking sound that echoed through the carriage.
"What? Because you wield an Original Story and claim E Rank, you think you can stop me? You think yourself special?"
With a flourish, he drew his silver sword, the blade catching the light as he leveled it at Nero.
Nero stepped forward, chin high, shoulders squared, showing not a trace of fear outwardly.
Do not let him see it… his thoughts screamed. I am terrified—he could end me in a heartbeat. But I mustn't falter. I cannot falter. Not here, not now…
Despite the storm of panic raging in his mind, he kept his stance, unwavering, his voice calm and steady as he prepared for whatever would come next.
At that moment, the faint hiss of the door connecting to the next carriage echoed through the bus.
Heads turned instinctively to see who was entering.
A young woman stepped inside.
Her skin was a pale, light orange, while her hands carried a rusty orange hue. Her eyes—bright blue where the whites would normally be, pupils jet black—peered out briefly as she lifted her sunglasses slightly with one hand, giving everyone a fleeting glimpse before letting them settle back into place.
She was clad entirely in black: a fitted jacket, pants, shirt, gloves with open fingers, and boots that carried her silent, assured stride.
Every inch of her seemed carefully composed, yet a subtle aura radiated from her, visible to all, a quiet warning of strength.
She was a D Ranker, wielding an Original Story.
Her eyes swept the carriage, calm and assessing. With a small grin, she raised a hand in a casual gesture and said, voice light but confident, "Carry on, don't mind me. I'm merely looking for a seat."
The young Cut member, still tense from his earlier confrontation, inclined his head in acknowledgment.
She, however, did not return the gesture, nor even glance in his direction.
Her gaze remained focused ahead, as if the world around her existed only as a backdrop to her solitary purpose.
The young Cut member laughed, spinning back toward Nero with a malicious grin, and took a step forward.
Inside, Nero's mind was a whirlwind of fear. I can't fail… I must not falter… Yet outwardly, he squared his stance, ready to engage, every muscle coiled for the fight he had anticipated.
But before he could act—or even draw his Original Story—the world seemed to freeze once more.
The new girl, the D Ranker, stepped forward. Calm, deliberate, she reached out and patted the Cut member's shoulder.
"Move out of the way. Right now," she said lightly, as if requesting a minor favor.
The Cut member's face darkened with anger. He opened his mouth to argue, to assert his dominance, and then, without warning, a fist connected with his face.
A sharp crack resounded—the punch had broken his nose. He fell backward, silver sword clattering to the floor, clutching his face in shock.
"You're far too slow," the girl said coolly, her gaze steady. Before he could recover, she delivered a precise kick to his face.
The man crumpled, unconscious, sprawled across the floor.
The carriage remained still for a heartbeat, the shocked silence stretching across every passenger as the weight of her presence settled in.
The D Ranker girl turned her gaze toward the young woman still curled on the ground, tears streaking her face.
Fear overtook the girl, and she stumbled backward, pleading, "Please… don't hurt me! I'll move out of the way right now!"
In her panic, she collided with Nero. His reflexes were quick; he caught her before she could fall, holding her steady.
The D Ranker girl chuckled softly. "Do not worry. I will not harm you," she said, her tone calm yet firm.
The young woman's sobs slowed as she looked up, relief washing over her. "Th-thank you… thank you so much," she stammered, glancing between Nero and the girl.
The D Ranker waved a hand dismissively. "Do not thank me. The true gentleman here is the one who saved you."
The woman looked at Nero, gratitude shining in her eyes once more, and thanked him again. Then, still trembling, she hurried to find a seat, settling down to wipe away her tears and compose herself.
Nero exhaled, shoulders relaxing as he returned to his own seat, the tension ebbing slightly.
A staff member of the bus entered the carriage quietly and moved the unconscious Cut member to a seat, saying nothing.
Not a word was spoken as the staff retreated, leaving the carriage as though nothing had happened at all.
The passengers exchanged only glances, the silence heavy with unspoken acknowledgment.
A soft voice reached Nero's ears. "Is it alright if I sit here? There's no other empty seat in the carriage."
He turned and found the D Ranker girl smiling at him. He felt a flutter of shyness, his posture stiffening just slightly. "Sure," he replied, voice careful.
She grinned and slid into the seat beside him. Almost immediately, she turned her gaze toward him, her eyes bright above the sunglasses. "I'm Prism," she said.
"And you are?"
"Nero," he answered.
"Glad to meet you," she said with a playful tilt of her head.
Nero felt heat rise to his cheeks.
She noticed, of course, and teased him gently. "Don't be so red. Honestly, I'm glad I met you because I can see it—you're quite frightened inside, and yet you still tried to help. That… is remarkable."
Nero blinked, impressed.
His outward composure had been enough to fool the entire carriage into thinking he was calm, and yet Prism had seen through it immediately.
"Thank you," he murmured, almost embarrassed.
"No worries," she replied with a soft laugh. Then, inclining her head slightly, she asked, "So… where are you headed?"
Nero hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he finally spoke, voice measured. "To an Auction… in Fifth Town. I'm… looking for something."
Prism tilted her head, curiosity glinting behind her sunglasses. "Something? What is it?"
He shook his head slightly, a faint flush rising to his cheeks. "I… I can't tell you."
Her grin softened. "I understand. Some things are better kept private."
There was a brief pause before she added casually, almost as if it were nothing at all, "Actually… I'm heading to that same Auction in Fifth Town as well."
Nero's head immediately turned, and he stared at her, mouth slightly agape, unable to believe what he was hearing.
She laughed lightly at his expression. "Don't worry. I'm going there for a special Card they've put up for auction. You don't need to tell me why you're going."
Nero blinked, still recovering. "I… I apologize. I was just… surprised. That's all."
Prism's laugh was soft, understanding. "Yes, I get that. It is a bit unexpected."
Then, almost immediately, she leaned a little closer, her tone curious. "So… what's your Story called?"
A small smile tugged at Nero's lips, the tension of the moment easing. "[The Place That I Forgot]."
—End of Chapter.
-------
So... Who are you again?
Gara: So like... Who are you? Why are you getting your own chapter?
Nero: I... I think I'll become important soon... I'm not sure actually.
Prism: Hey! You! Yes, you, Gara! What are you doing here? This chapter literally has nothing to do with you... So... Why are you here?
Gara: Cause... I'm the mc, and that's good enough of a reason.
Leif: Just ignore him, he does this all the time.
Prism: Hahaha! Yeah, makes sense honestly.
Gara: Hey, don't ignore me! Also... Aren't you familiar?
Prism: Ofc I am. I'm from the [White Severance] Event, yk, with the [Last Note of Black] and all? Even the Cut was there too.
Gara: Oh! Yeah, now I get it.
Nero: I... I was supposed to do this ending segment... Since the chapter's named after me and all.
Gara: Shush! You got to talk way too much in the chapter, learn to share, will you?
Leif: Look at who's speaking. Ha!
Prism: Hahahaha!!!