The white apartment door clicked softly behind Kaidren as he stepped out, its glossy surface catching the corridor's soft lights. What greeted him was a maze-like hallway wide enough to fit five people walking shoulder to shoulder, its size almost decadent in scale for an apartment complex. The walls were painted in a muted cream tone, clean and freshly maintained, accented by strips of faint golden hue that shimmered under the soft overhead lighting. The lights themselves were built into geometric fixtures—square-shaped with frosted covers—strategically embedded into the ceiling at equal intervals, casting a gentle ambiance that neither strained the eyes nor dimmed the details.
Each side of the corridor was lined with identical white doors, their numbers engraved in silver plates that reflected just enough light to be visible at a glance. Modern abstract paintings decorated the walls, each framed in minimalist silver. Kaidren passed by one depicting a swirl of blue fractals colliding with jagged red spikes—supposedly "artistic," but it only earned a dull stare from him.
"What even is this supposed to be?" Kaidren muttered, his tone flat, almost amused. "Looks like someone punched a water balloon into a lava pit."
Next to the artworks, potted plants stood in chrome planters. Some were bonsai-like, meticulously pruned; others featured dangling vines that curled down neatly, never obscuring the walkways. It was almost impressive how much effort had been poured into making the place look like a modern luxury hotel.
Kaiden glanced down at the floor. Pale tiles gleamed faintly under the lighting, reflecting his movement as he walked past the polished walls and art pieces.
He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, absently noting the door number he had just exited: 67.
"This place is way too fancy for someone like me," he thought. "No way the rent's cheap. Wonder if the system pays it off automatically, or if I'll suddenly get an eviction notice one morning."
Despite the sarcastic thought, Kaidren didn't worry. With the upcoming Kessen match, and the money he could potentially rake in by betting smart, his concern about finances felt more like background noise than a real threat.
He turned the corner, his boots making soft taps against the tile, and scanned the seemingly endless corridor. It branched again, leading in multiple directions. He exhaled slowly.
"Right. Time to find the elevator. Or stairs. Or a map," he said under his breath. "How hard can it be?"
Just as he rounded another corner, a sudden motion caught his eye from the left.
A door opened down the hall. A woman stepped out, her brown hair long and flowing freely over her shoulders. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, her other hand rummaging through a small brown sling bag, brows furrowed in concentration as she checked for something—maybe keys, wallet, or phone.
She wore a white scarf wrapped twice around her neck, its ends dangling over a pale pink hoodie that looked comfortably oversized. Her jeans were light-washed and slightly frayed near the ankles, and white sneakers completed the outfit. Her features were soft and classically cute, though her brows were slightly arched in focus.
Kaidren slowed his pace instinctively. There was something strange about seeing another actual person. Not a reporter on TV, not a profile photo on Zbook—just someone physically close, breathing the same air.
"She's the first person I've seen up close in this world…" Kaidren mused.
As the woman zipped her purse and gave a small sigh of relief, she sensed something and turned toward him. Her eyes met his.
Kaidren froze mid-step.
"Ah, crap. She probably thinks I'm a creep."
And he wasn't wrong.
The woman stiffened subtly as her gaze scanned him. In her mind, alarm bells rang—not loudly, but enough to raise a brow. A tall man in dark clothes, all black from head to toe, hoodie up, expression deadened like he hadn't slept in three days. Suspicious. Potentially dangerous. Her hand inched toward the inside of her sling bag.
"Should I… get the taser?" she thought, fingers brushing a small device nestled inside.
Kaidren picked up on the tension in an instant. Her stance had shifted, just slightly. Enough to scream defense-ready.
He blinked once, then sighed and gave a small, courteous bow—not too deep, not too formal.
"Good evening," he said plainly, voice cool and dry.
The woman blinked in surprise.
His tone wasn't threatening. It was too casual. Almost lazy, even.
"Good… good evening," she replied, voice slightly tight. Not fearful—more like embarrassed for jumping to sudden conclusions.
A moment of awkward silence passed between them.
Kaidren straightened and looked away, deciding not to linger. Just as he was about to turn and continue his search, her voice called out again.
"Um… are you new here?"
Kaidren paused and glanced back over his shoulder.
"Haven't seen you before," she continued. "I've lived on this floor for five years. I pretty much know everyone here."
Kaidren nodded once, flatly.
"Yeah. Just moved in."
"Ah. I see." Her voice relaxed a little. She seemed to take him more seriously now.
"What's your name?" she asked, the question cautious but polite.
"Kaidren."
She mouthed the name silently. Kaidren… Her gaze lingered on his face for a beat longer, committing it to memory. While his features were striking—sharp jaw, clear skin, eyes like smoldered coal—something about his aura still made her suspicious.
He's handsome, but he gives off weird vibes…
Kaidren, oblivious to her internal commentary, tilted his head slightly. "You know where the elevator is? I… have a bad sense of direction."
A complete lie. But he figured pretending to be forgetful was better than admitting he'd wandered the corridor like a confused cat.
She frowned inwardly.
"What a troublesome guy," she thought.
After a moment of thinking, she pointed further down the corridor.
"Just keep going straight. You'll see a right turn up ahead with the elevator being at the end of that hall."
Kaidren nodded. "Thanks."
And without another word, he turned and walked off.
The woman watched him go, still frowning slightly. Then she shook her head and murmured to herself, "Weird guy…"
Kaidren continued down the corridor in silence, hands still tucked in his hoodie pocket. The echo of his boots faded behind him.
_____________________________________
Kaidren moved forward at an even pace, his black boots tapping softly against the polished tiles beneath him. The corridor, now bathed in a quiet glow from overhead lights, stretched ahead in near-perfect symmetry. Just as the woman had instructed, he kept his eyes peeled to the right for any sign of the elevators. As he walked, he couldn't help but reflect on the brief interaction he'd just had.
"So this is what it's like," he thought. To talk. To be seen. To interact with people who aren't just pre-written NPCs with fixed dialogue. His gaze remained casual, but internally, a mild sense of interest stirred.
Everyone here had their own lives. Their own stories. He was no longer the sole player in a static world; this was a breathing, ever-evolving place. "Maybe I should avoid pissing off anyone unnecessarily," he mused with faint sarcasm. "Wouldn't want any side characters coming back to haunt me."
Unbeknownst to him, that ship had already sailed with the woman he'd just met. But Kaidren had long since stopped bothering with what people thought of him—unless it was tactically necessary.
Finally, at the far end of the hallway, he spotted a pair of sleek chrome elevator doors recessed into the wall. A soft bronze plaque above them read: FLOOR 12.
"Noted." Kaidren filed that away mentally. His room—number 67—was on the twelfth floor. In case he needed to return in a hurry.
He walked toward the elevator on the left and pressed the button. With a soft mechanical chime, the doors parted, revealing an interior decorated with warm wooden paneling and a plush, carpeted floor that dulled the sound of footsteps. A faint ambient tune played softly in the background—some kind of jazzy lounge instrumental that looped every thirty seconds.
He stepped in and turned to face the panel. Rows of backlit buttons glowed softly. He ignored them all except for the one labeled "1." His finger pressed it with a silent precision.
The doors slid shut.
The elevator began its descent—twelve… eleven… ten…
Kaidren raised his head slightly, watching the small screen at the top tick downward floor by floor.
Nine… eight… seven…
There was something therapeutic about this quiet movement, this measured transition from the isolated upper floors to the unknown bustle of the ground level. A prelude to something larger.
Six… five… four…
He adjusted his sleeves absentmindedly, listening to the hum of the elevator motor.
Three… two… one.
Ding.
The doors opened with a smooth, practiced glide.
Kaidren was met with an unexpectedly vast sight: a grand lobby unfurled before him, spacious and adorned with modern luxury. The ceiling soared above, where an elegant crystal chandelier hung like a cluster of stars frozen in time, casting soft gleams across the polished marble floor. A rich, red carpet ran down the center of the hall like a velvet river, guiding guests from the elevators toward the towering glass entrance.
His gaze swept across the room. On one side, plush leather couches and glass tables created a waiting area, where suited men and elegantly dressed women chatted in murmurs. The air carried a faint scent of vanilla and something citrusy—probably the expensive kind of air fresheners meant to feel invisible.
To the left stood a sleek reception counter staffed by uniformed employees. The men wore crimson tuxedos with sharp lapels, and the women had outfits reminiscent of airline crew—form-fitting, stylish, equally red, complete with matching caps.
They moved with practiced grace, speaking with customers, typing into their consoles, handing over key cards, and nodding politely. Everything about this place screamed wealth and design efficiency.
Kaidren's black attire made him stand out in stark contrast. He didn't care.
He strode forward quietly, keeping close to the walls to avoid unnecessary attention. If anyone looked his way, they didn't comment. He was just another shadow passing through the light.
As he neared the main exit, a massive set of black-tinted glass doors stood before him—automatic, of course. Beyond them, the blurry outlines of the city glittered in the dark: headlights streaking across the streets, pedestrians moving along the sidewalks, neon signs reflecting off passing vehicles.
Before he could step through, a figure blocked his path momentarily. A tall man, wearing a black tuxedo and earpiece, stood by the doors with a rigid stance. A nameplate and a badge pinned to his chest read: Tier 2 – Licensed Guardian.
The man held up a small device, rectangular and metallic, glowing faintly blue.
Kaidren stopped without being told.
The man brought the scanner up to Kaidren's face. A single scan line passed down like a curtain of light. A quiet beep followed, and then a green light pulsed on the device.
"Verified. Resident of Room 67," the guard confirmed in a deep baritone, stepping aside without further words.
Kaidren gave a silent nod and walked forward without much thought.
The glass doors parted with a quiet hiss.
And then—he stepped outside.
The night air hit him instantly: crisp, dry, and cold. It carried with it the scent of city life—exhaust fumes, warm street food, and the faint sharpness of rain that hadn't yet fallen.
The street in front of the building was alive. Vehicles hummed by, some electric, others roaring with combustion engines. People walked in every direction—some in coats with coffee in hand, others in casual clothes with shopping bags. Conversations drifted through the air, overlapping in waves of languages and tones.
Towering buildings loomed in every direction, their facades lined with LED strips and digital billboards. From one of them, a massive screen played footage of an ongoing Kessen tournament, the camera cutting between roaring spectators and battling espers. Names and sponsor logos flashed with every strike.
Kaidren stood still for a moment at the edge of the entrance, letting it all sink in.
His hair fluttered slightly as a breeze passed through, tugging gently at the hem of his black jacket.
"…Wow," he murmured under his breath, barely audible.
Not that anyone heard. Not that it mattered.
His face remained as unreadable as ever—stoic, tired, calm—but something in his gaze had shifted, ever so slightly.
The world was bigger now. Brighter. And louder.