In the morning, Renzo sat on his chair, the steam from his coffee rising in delicate spirals, dancing briefly before fading into the light of the waking world. His black mask was already back on, its smooth surface catching glints of the early sun that filtered in through the window. (Artificial Lights on the fifth floor of the Black District).
Across from him sat his wife, Shizu, composed as ever, and beside her, the quiet figure of Prism—the little girl he had found yesterday, standing alone in a forgotten alleyway.
The young girl sipped her coffee gently, the bitter drink softened with milk, her small fingers curled around the mug as she nibbled on cookies Shizu had baked the day before. Neither Shizu nor Prism spoke. The room was still. Even Renzo drank his coffee in contemplative silence, letting the moment breathe.
Time passed with only the occasional clink of a cup.
Eventually, the three of them finished, and Shizu rose from her seat. "I'll handle the cleaning," she said simply.
Renzo gave her a grateful nod and stood, patting Prism gently on the head. With a quiet goodbye, he stepped out of the apartment, the little girl walking beside him. Today, his path led him to a familiar name—his newest friend, the other lonely Z Ranker, [Owl].
Unlike what the name suggested, [Owl] was not an actual owl, nor a Beastmen like Lorcas and Arden. He was simply a man—albeit one who wore a sleek, dark costume adorned with stylized owl features. His presence carried an aura of quiet wisdom, calculated movement, and sharp perception—much like the creature he modeled himself after.
He hailed from the renowned X Ranked Fragment, [Land of Legends], a place recited by many of the most famous Reciters in the Story World. Its lore was vast, deep, and loved—home to many titanic tales and equally colossal characters.
Among the Fragment's Main Storylines, one version in particular had reached cult-like status among fans: the [Traveler]'s take on [Owl]'s story. It was widely considered the definitive telling, praised for its insight, subtle brilliance, and tragic layers. Renzo had watched it more than once—and he found himself agreeing with the masses. It really was something special.
He never imagined, not even in the furthest corners of his mind, that he would one day reach the same rank—Z Rank—as both the Legendary Reciter and the Recited: the [Traveler], and [Owl].
And not just that, but he even found himself traveling with [Owl] as of late, which was quite surprising. Granted, it was due to some personal reasons, but he still enjoyed the idea quite a bit. A small smile formed behind his black mask.
Beside him, Prism walked quietly, her small feet padding across the polished blackstone path. She didn't ask where they were going—didn't speak at all—just followed after him like a shadow, trusting and silent.
Renzo's eyes scanned their surroundings. The artificial lights bathed the fifth floor of the Black District in a sterile, yet oddly warm glow. Above and behind them, towering like a monument, was the gigantic blue tree—its luminescence rippling softly like water under moonlight. It watched over the floor like an ancient guardian, its roots hidden but its presence undeniable.
Prism was almost glued to it, her eyes wide with awe and curiosity. Renzo had to remind her to watch her step more than once, and each time she blinked, startled, before offering a quick apology and catching up.
Still, her reaction confirmed something important.
'She's not from here... or at least hasn't been to this floor in particular,' he thought, gaze narrowing slightly. 'She said a man told her to stand in that alleyway yesterday...'
His brow furrowed beneath the mask.
'Who was it?'
He sighed and continued forward with Prism, his footsteps echoing softly against the smooth stone floor beneath them. The towering neon signs and glowing glyphs of the Black District cast ever-shifting reflections along his black suit, and Prism's smaller silhouette trailed just behind like a pale echo in motion.
Eyes followed them—curious, excited, wary.
Renzo garnered a few looks here and there but paid them no mind. He was a Z Ranker, after all. Only a hundred existed across the entire Story World. And in this world, where strength was fame and reputation was carved from legend, his presence always came with weight. Whispers followed him like wind trails, but he walked undisturbed, unmoved.
Still, the silent attention had its uses.
Take Prism, for example. The only reason she had followed him back home, the only reason she felt safe enough to sit across from him at breakfast this morning, was because she had already known who he was. She had heard of [Last Note of Black] before. Without that name—without the invisible cloak of renown wrapped around him—she might have bolted the moment he offered help.
Through their walk toward where [Owl] was staying, Renzo moved like a quiet storm through a crowd of sparks. Kids spotted him first—eyes wide, smiles brighter than the artificial lights above—as they rushed over for autographs, waving Story Cards and old collectible stickers of [Last Note of Black]. Renzo ducked slightly and signed each one with ease, his tone warm yet reserved. Their parents hovered nearby, nervous and hesitant, watching from a polite distance.
This was the fifth floor of the Black District, a level dense with D Rankers and above. F and E Rankers were rare, usually found only in the younger children. Mercenaries with weathered armor and cracked weapons paused to ask Renzo for guidance—what jobs were worth taking, what Faction paths led to growth, which Fragments were worth the risk. Others, more daring, extended offers to join their groups. Renzo declined them all with a polite smile behind the mask and a small shake of the head.
The path to [Owl] wasn't quiet—it was filled with voices, laughter, admiration, and conversation. It was a current of sound flowing through Renzo's presence like a river around a stone.
Prism walked just behind him, eyes darting left and right, soaking in every word exchanged. Wonder filled her gaze as she watched Renzo effortlessly interact with nearly everyone they passed. She didn't say anything, but the expression on her face said it all.
She knew Z Rankers were strong. She'd heard they were famous.
But only now did she start to grasp what that truly meant.
She had always imagined Z Rankers as royalty—untouchable figures dwelling in towering manors suspended above the clouds or hidden away in distant, gilded Fragments. The [Gold Emperor] with his endless vaults, the [Dragon King] atop his molten throne. Others, like the [Grey Rose], didn't just hold power—they governed vast regions of the Story World itself, shaping entire narratives with a single word or sword stroke.
But Renzo… the [Last Note of Black]… lived in a small apartment, drank coffee in silence, and walked these crowded streets like any other person. No guards. No entourage. Just a black mask and a calm, grounded presence.
It was strange.
Prism kept glancing up at him, her thoughts churning. Was this really the same man from the Blue Trade Records? The same one she had watched defeat legendary Players in clips that replayed like myth?
Doubt flickered in her chest—not fear, but the quiet, disorienting feeling of reality not matching the legend.
And yet, here he was. Not royalty. Not unreachable.
Just Renzo.
The two continued on their way, Prism's small footsteps trailing just behind Renzo's confident stride. Soon, they reached a large, towering tavern—one of the more iconic gathering spots in the fifth floor of the Black District. Wide, stone-carved stairs led up to the entrance, worn down by the boots of countless Players over time.
Dozens of individuals moved in and out, carrying weapons, laughing in groups, or checking their Story System Interfaces. But the moment Renzo appeared at the base of the stairs, the atmosphere shifted. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd. All eyes locked onto the man in the black mask.
And almost no one noticed the small girl beside him.
Prism didn't mind. In fact, she was relieved. With how many Players were around, blending into the background felt far safer.
A few individuals stood out from the crowd—ominous figures draped in long, black trench coats, each of them carrying massive swords strapped to their backs or leaning against their chairs. They didn't blend in. They didn't try to. These were the kind of Players who walked into any room expecting the air to shift around them.
One of them, with a muscular yet agile frame, sipped from a steaming cup of coffee while casually holding a sword in his other hand. His long, messy black hair fell around a face marked by faint scars and a constant smirk.
Though Renzo's face was hidden behind his black mask, Prism, walking close at his side, could feel something shift in the air around him—like tension wrapped in ice, pressing outward. Hatred. She didn't ask why.
The smirking swordsman caught Renzo's gaze and laughed lowly.
"Oho? Isn't that the famous [Last Note of Black]?" he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he stood from his chair with lazy confidence.
He took a few steps forward, closing the distance, then extended his hand with theatrical friendliness. "Been a while."
Renzo stood still, silent. His body didn't shift, but the energy around him did—like gravity growing denser in his presence.
"I don't shake hands with scum like you," he said, voice cold and flat.
The tavern fell into an uneasy quiet. Eyes widened. Chairs creaked. Somewhere in the back, a spoon paused mid-air.
Prism clutched her sleeve tightly, unsure of what would happen next.
The man didn't appear offended. In fact, he laughed—a low, rumbling sound that drew attention back to him. He took a single step back, spreading his arms theatrically as if presenting a harmless joke.
"Scary, huh... But to be expected from the kind Renzo. Is that a new lost child you've added to your collection?"
Renzo didn't flinch. He stared at the man for a heartbeat longer, then dismissed him entirely with the kind of silence that spoke louder than any retort. Without another word, he walked forward.
Prism hesitated for only a second before following after him, her small steps quiet against the wooden floorboards. She didn't look back.
She wondered who that man was—someone so bold he could speak to a Z Ranker like that, and yet not be shut down or struck down. And why had Renzo said nothing in return? Why had he walked away?
Wasn't that man trying to taunt Mister Renzo?
Oh well, it wasn't her place to intervene, so she just followed [Last Note of Black] in silence.
The duo made their way to the edge of the balcony, where a certain someone sat alone at a table that seemed to repel the world around it. His presence radiated an unspoken rule—leave me alone—and the nearby tables remained conspicuously empty, as if out of instinct or respect.
He wore a sleek black tactical suit, the kind tailored for silent, precise combat. Two white lenses glowed faintly from the black cowl that cloaked his face, and atop his head stood two pointed, ear-like protrusions—like the silhouette of an owl under moonlight. Where his nose should've been, a golden beak gleamed in contrast, curved and sharp, completing the uncanny avian design.
A black short sword rested across his back, and his belt bore an arsenal of daggers—each one carefully positioned for speed and efficiency. On the table beside him sat a cup of black coffee, steam rising gently into the morning air. The cowl was parted just enough at the mouth to let him drink, a small compromise in an otherwise guarded persona.
This was [Owl]. The other Z Ranked Loner who [Last Note of Black] came looking for today.
[Owl] looked up as the two figures finally arrived at his table. His white lenses fixed on them, sharp and unreadable. Prism, catching his stare, flinched slightly and turned her gaze away, clearly intimidated. Renzo, on the other hand, met [Owl]'s look with quiet ease. He was smiling behind his jet-black mask, but no one could see that.
[Owl] broke the silence first. His voice was flat, steady. "I wouldn't have taken that."
Renzo chuckled softly and sat across from him, motioning for Prism to do the same. The little girl obediently pulled out a chair and sat, trying not to let her nerves show. [Owl] spared her only a glance—brief, dismissive—before his focus returned to the man known as [Last Note of Black].
"I am not you, [Owl]," Renzo said, settling into his seat with relaxed defiance. "I do things my way. And I prefer not to get into any more trouble. I just relocated here, and I happen to like it."
[Owl] stared at him for a moment, then raised his coffee to his lips. He took a slow sip, his posture unchanged. When he finally spoke, his tone didn't shift.
"I disagree. You're not me—that's true. But you're still a Z Ranker. Everything is recorded by the Blue Trade Agents these days… and that little incident has most likely become the buzz in the Black District by now."
Renzo didn't respond right away. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms as [Owl] continued, his voice sharp, low, and cutting through the morning buzz around them like a blade through silk.
"You have a reputation to uphold," [Owl] said, his white lenses glinting in the light. "Not just that. If you want to become stronger, to earn more Cores, or anything really, you cannot allow disrespect like that to your name."
He didn't blink as he went on. "If it was another Z Ranker, depending on their strength, then maybe you could let it slide."
He leaned forward now, elbows on the table, voice dropping slightly.
"But it wasn't. That was a mere SSS Ranker. Just because he's part of the Cut doesn't mean anything. The Seven Wounds need to understand they can't mess with a Z Ranker and get away with it. Especially not one with your level of strength… [Last Note of Black]."
Prism glanced between the two men, eyes wide, sensing the weight behind every word. Renzo remained still, his silence not from defeat, but thought. The black mask he wore reflected no emotion—but inside, gears were already turning.
"I beg to differ," Renzo said, finally breaking the stillness between them. His voice was calm, but tired in a way only those who carried their battles in silence would understand. "I understand what you mean, but you need to understand my perspective as well."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the table, fingers laced loosely.
"I have been fighting my entire life... and I do mean that. I get months of rest—just months—before it's another big fight again. Same thing happened in the Yan Dynasty, in Dark Town, in White Clouds... Everywhere I go, I seem to bring trouble to myself."
[Owl] said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew this already. Knew the trail of flames Renzo left behind him, the legacy carved through ruins and riots. But still, he let him continue.
"Same thing's true of my wife, [White Severance]. We've caused a lot of trouble—so much so that we deal with assassins sent our way every few days."
Prism's fingers curled tighter around the edge of her seat.
She had read stories about [Last Note of Black], watched recordings in the Blue Trade Records of his fights—how he always seemed to show up to protect someone, always challenged the powerful when no one else would. She knew he'd been blacklisted by the elite, shut out from most major territories. But assassins?
Daily?
That meant they had to be at least SSS Rank—elite assassins capable of wiping out entire teams alone. And for them to come in groups, regularly? That was terrifying on its own.
Maybe even X Rankers were involved… the kind of fighters who shaped entire battles around their Aspects, whose powers were entire Stories by themselves. But Prism's thoughts didn't stop there.
Maybe Z Rankers?
She shivered at the idea.
But then she shook her head—no, that didn't make sense. Z Rankers were rare. Too rare. Hard to find, harder to hire. Especially to assassinate someone of the same class.
And not just any Z Ranker, but someone as famous and powerful as [Last Note of Black].
Hiring a Z Ranker to kill another… it wasn't just expensive. It was personal. Dangerous. Political.
Which meant if one ever did come after him… they wouldn't just be a hired killer.
They'd be coming for something much bigger.
Renzo continued talking, his tone calm but heavy, "I don't want to make more enemies for a small insult. The Cut itself might not be that strong—their two Z Rankers I can take myself. But they're not alone, they're part of the bigger alliance… the Seven Wounds. And if all of their Z Rankers banded together, I'd have a hard time surviving."
His voice dipped lower with the next words, just slightly, but enough that Prism felt the weight behind them.
"Much less Shizu… She'd be dead by the end of it. And I do not intend to start a war for something so trivial."
[Owl] stared at him in silence, the lenses of his mask cold and unreadable. Then, finally, he shook his head. "And who said they'd do all that just for an SSS Ranker?"
"I don't know what they'll do or won't do," Renzo replied. "So why risk it at all?"
[Owl] still shook his head slowly, his voice like a whisper carried on steel. "I still wouldn't have taken that."
"[Owl]," Renzo said with a teasing tone, "I get it, you're the cool person who lives alone, who cares not for threats. The person who can show them who's boss and all, right?"
A heavy silence followed.
[Owl] didn't answer right away.
Prism, sitting quietly beside Renzo, felt her entire body tense. For a split second, the air around them changed—the pressure sharpened like a blade drawn in silence, [Owl]'s presence turning into a faint whisper of bloodlust. Her instincts screamed danger, and she feared the joke had gone too far.
But then—
He laughed.
A low, short chuckle. The pressure vanished as fast as it came, dissipating like smoke.
Prism blinked in disbelief, unsure of what she had just witnessed. The shift in atmosphere was like a heartbeat between life and death. She looked at [Owl] with wide eyes, confused.
She didn't know much about him. Only that he was a Z Ranker like [Last Note of Black], and a powerful one at that. A loner, a phantom in the Story World's ranks. And now… something more. Something unpredictable.
Prism kept quiet, but her wide eyes didn't leave [Owl]. She studied the strange man dressed like a predator of the night—black cowl, white lenses, golden beak—his movements lean, precise, controlled. And yet, in that one moment, she had felt something beneath it all. Something terrifying.
"I'm not trying to be cool," [Owl] finally said, his voice calm again. "And I don't live alone because I like it. I live alone because it's easier."
Renzo leaned back, his arms crossed. "Easier to not care?"
"No," [Owl] replied. "Easier to not lose anything."
Prism flinched slightly at that.
Renzo said nothing. He understood. Perhaps too well. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the silence of people who'd both fought too many wars… and buried too many things they cared about.
[Owl] looked at Prism again, his lenses unreadable. "So, who is she really?"
"That's what I was hoping you could help me with," Renzo replied. "There's no record of her in the Blue Trade Records. Nothing from name, image, to species. Not even her Story is known by the System."
For a moment, [Owl] didn't reply. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a small cube-like device—one of the older models of deep-record analyzers used by high-ranking Information Brokers.
"Let me see her hand," he said.
Prism hesitated, her body freezing again.
Renzo knelt down beside her. "It's okay. He's not going to hurt you."
Still shaking slightly, Prism reached out her hand, and [Owl] scanned it with the device.
The cube blinked. Once. Twice.
Then it turned red and emitted a low beep.
"No match in the Archive or the Underfragment Blacklist," [Owl] muttered. "She's not from any known system-registered Fragment. Not even the ones hidden from the public. This... is something else."
"What does that mean?" Prism asked, her voice small.
"It means," [Owl] said, lowering the cube, "you're a mystery the Story World hasn't seen before."
Renzo stood up slowly, his expression unreadable beneath his mask.
"Well," he said, "guess we have ourselves a new story to write."
[Owl] looked up from the blinking red cube in his hand, his white lenses gleaming beneath the dim tavern lights. "Where are you going?"
Renzo had just stood up, after all. He turned his head over his shoulder and said, "Nowhere. Just felt like standing up and saying something cool."
There was a long pause. [Owl] stared at him for exactly two seconds, before shaking his head, voice flat, "Show-off."
Renzo chuckled softly behind his mask and sat back down.
Prism, seated quietly beside him, watched it all unfold with a strange ache in her chest. These two Z Rankers, both loners in their own way, didn't speak like legends. They spoke like people—worn, sharp, but still somehow… warm.
She glanced down at her hands, small and still trembling slightly.
'I know what I am,' she thought. At least… she had an idea. A terrible one.
The man—the one who brought her here—had told her. Whispered the truth into her ear before vanishing into the shadows. "Say nothing. Or bad things will happen. Very bad things."
So she kept her mouth shut. Even now. Even as they asked questions. Even when Shizu stared so sharply. Even when [Owl] held a device that could crack entire identities apart.
But Renzo didn't do any of that.
He didn't force her to speak.
He didn't use forbidden skills to tear her Story out of her.
He just… let her be.
Sat beside her.
Talked with [Owl].
Like it didn't matter that she was a mystery that could shake the very roots of the Story World.
Prism felt something stir in her chest—small and unfamiliar.
It was warmth.
And safety.
[Owl] leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his white lenses reflecting the low amber lights of the tavern. His voice was low but direct, "So what now? What will you do, Renzo?"
Renzo leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed, though his voice carried a weight under the calm. "Shizu's at the Information Market right now. She's checking to see if anything slipped through the cracks—some people don't upload everything into the Blue Trade Records. Not every Reciter plays fair. But..." He paused, then shrugged. "I don't think she'll find anything useful."
[Owl] turned his masked face to Prism, quiet for a long moment, then looked back at Renzo. "What do you know?"
Renzo's gloved fingers tapped lightly on the table. "...I met her last night. Deep into the night, actually. She said her name was Prism. She's nine years old. Doesn't have..." He glanced briefly at the girl, hesitated, then finished, "...doesn't have parents. Or a home."
Prism stayed silent, staring down at her hands.
Renzo continued, "Said a man told her to stand in that alleyway where I found her. She wouldn't tell me who. Just that if she answered anything—if she told me what she really is... bad things would happen."
[Owl] cocked his head slightly. "Bad things? To a Z Ranker?"
Renzo chuckled faintly, the sound muffled behind the black mask. "Apparently."
[Owl] didn't laugh, didn't nod. He just sat there, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup slowly. Then, at last, he said, "Now you've got my attention."
He turned toward her, his tone calm but eyes sharp behind the mask. "You're quite the mystery, young lady… and if there's one thing I can't resist, it's uncovering the truth behind a good one."
—End of Chapter.
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[Owl] and [Last Note of Black]'s commentary:
[Owl]: Why am I here again?
Renzo: Because we need to fill this part as well... I'm not sure if the Readers like it, read it, or even bother with it at all... But I guess we have to.
[Owl]: Go get someone else to host it with you, oh... There he is, Gara, man of the show. He keeps on showing up in stories that have nothing to do with him.
Gara: I do. Do you wanna know why? It's because they all have something to do with me. I can't spoil it, since I live in the future and know how this one relates to my story... But let's just say it's important. Well, actually not THAT much, since most of it will be told again in paragraphs in the main story, but if you want details on what actually happened... Well, you can find it here.
Renzo: Hmmm... You're not entirely useless after all, I have changed my mind on you.
Gara: Hahahaha! Of course you did. I'm the Mc, who doesn't like me?
Dante: Me.