A Script Beneath the Script

I chose my words carefully.

“There’s no need to rush.”

“What?”

“Listen. You’re overwhelmingly stronger than me. Right now, you’ve practically got my leash in your hand. Isn’t that true?”

The violent edge in Jeok-o’s presence dulled slightly.

“…That’s obvious.”

“Exactly. So calm down first. Of course I’d like to run. But I can’t. That’s the important part. No matter how I feel, escape is impossible.”

Only after repeating that sweet reassurance into his ear did I feel I might avoid having my neck snapped immediately.

“What brings you to the dorm? Didn’t you move to your territory?”

“Confess. What trick did you use?”

Apparently not good enough.

“Trick? You mean Day 2?”

“Yes.”

Jeok-o glared straight at me, grinding his teeth.

“Thirteen percent. How was that possible? You of all people.”

Ah.

So it had wounded his pride that deeply.

“And you dare toss it to me like alms? Dare? You?”

“Wait. Just wait.”

The situation worsened.

I had barely calmed his fury, and now it surged again.

He grabbed my collar, yanked me close, and growled in my face.

“How dare you!”

That strange feeling from earlier returned.

“If I said it was luck, would you believe me? That I stumbled into thirteen percent while running away? And that I handed it over purely to curry favor?”

That script earlier…

[N/S: What should I call that emotion? Not simple anger or contempt. The closest would be vigilance. A vigilance tinged with fear. Like a child bristling in case someone might steal his portion…]

It didn’t make sense.

Why would Jeok-o feel that toward me?

According to past settings, sure—he could dislike the player character.

A lowborn rumored to be his brother.

That would hurt his pride.

But the emotion in that script was deeper than mere disdain.

‘Bug?’

Maybe Caliburn was too busy juggling romances and broke part of the script output system.

That could produce nonsense results.

‘Or maybe he’s just oversensitive.’

An error.

Nothing more.

‘But.’

Could I really dismiss it that easily?

‘In WWC, Jeok-o overwhelmingly leads in player kills.’

I looked at him anew.

I thought I knew this character.

[R: Jeok-o. The legitimate and only son of the western city lord outside Bran. Chosen by a high-tier spirit creature at a young age, raised like a prince. An upbringing that made arrogance inevitable.]

A “little emperor.”

That fit him perfectly.

Inside the game, he caused endless incidents.

Come to think of it, maybe Bran was the first wall he’d ever hit.

‘…Was it?’

[R: A hot-blooded temper that explodes if things don’t go his way. Brutal enough to snap a neck without blinking.]

For the first time, I doubted the reliability of this narration.

Game scripts are written from the player character’s perspective.

If the PC doesn’t experience something, we don’t know it.

If the PC dies, the game ends.

Pure first-person.

Which means if the PC misunderstands something, that misunderstanding shapes the narration unless corrected by an event.

You may review previous scripts.

Search specific keywords in Record.

Text flooded my vision.

A torrent.

But the search results lodged themselves in my mind.

‘Total kills: 28.’

Not how many times he killed me.

How many times he killed anyone.

And how many times he killed me?

‘26.’

What the hell?

The vague unease crystallized.

Yes, Jeok-o was arrogant.

Quick to anger.

Unhesitating with violence.

‘But so were the other Five Stars!’

They were all pampered princes from their own cities.

“Jeok-o. Calm down.”

Now I was sure.

[R: Jeok-o’s temperament terrified me. Standing before him, I always felt like a frog before a snake. At any moment his thin patience would snap, my neck would break, my body would burn…]

There’s a problem here.

Not that the PC’s fear is fake.

But—

‘A gap.’

The reason for that extreme fear.

Specifically, something between the PC and Jeok-o.

Something outside Bran.

“I’ve been wondering.”

“Since a while ago…”

Jeok-o cut me off, tilting his head.

His gaze was dangerous, but probing.

“Did you take drugs or something?”

“So why did I change, is that it?”

“You know it.”

He stared, then suddenly grabbed my throat again and pressed me to the wall.

His hand was long and dry.

Like a bird’s talon.

‘Right. His master creature is the Red Crow.’

Still holding me, he muttered.

“There are parasitic creatures that burrow into a body and take it over.”

“So that’s what you think happened to me?”

“If not, how do you explain this?”

Honestly, not entirely wrong.

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“If I answer, will you listen?”

His face twisted at the provocation.

My neck chilled reflexively.

Didn’t matter.

“Wouldn’t that be good for you? You hated him. Wanted him dead. If I did that for you, shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

Jeok-o was violent and selfish.

But not like OZ.

Yet he killed the player character twenty-six times.

‘It was me that bothered him.’

The emphasis isn’t on bothered.

It’s on me.

“There’s a gap.”

Something bigger than the brief backstory mentioned in-game.

“Why aren’t you answering, Jeok-o?”

“You’re saying you’re not that bastard?”

“I’m saying it’s possible. Though you raised that possibility first. Sorry for stealing it?”

He let out a humorless laugh.

“You’re not him?”

“No need for thanks. With your personality, you wouldn’t give it anyway.”

Silence.

His gaze remained fixed on me.

“So, Red Count. Since we’re here, how about an alliance? You hated the owner of this body. I removed him. Not your benefactor, maybe—but close enough to a friend. That means we could help each other—”

My voice died.

“—!”

Heat clogged my throat.

I clawed at my neck.

Jeok-o didn’t stop me.

“This is ridiculous…”

The heat rose to my skull.

I glared at him.

He didn’t look away.

“Ha… so it’s true…”

Even suffocating, my mind flashed white.

[N/S: Burning fury. Deep humiliation. Beneath it, unfathomable hatred.]

So not a bug.

Burning fury.

Humiliation.

Hatred like a well.

Vigilance over losing his place.

‘So I killed someone he couldn’t kill himself?’

People might call that emotion—

Love-hate.

This game’s scope is absurd.

Fifty-four endings, and still hidden layers?

‘That’s for later.’

Right now—

My grip on my own throat weakened.

I forced a smile with blurred vision.

Jeok-o’s expression twitched.

“What, going to beg?”

“As if.”

More precisely—

“No need.”

Now he frowned.

“Pathetic bravado—!”

I cut him off, squeezing out my voice.

“Seol-ya! Seol-ya!”

The earlier script read—

[N/S: I felt a gaze. And presence. A chill ran down my neck.]

Not one reaction.

Two.

“Seol-ya! Over here!”

Meaning Jeok-o wasn’t alone in the dorm.

“You bastard, from the start—!”

A presence shifted.

Jeok-o’s focus broke.

That was enough.

Even if Seol-ya didn’t intend to help.

Even if it wasn’t Seol-ya at all.

Equip ‘Lovesick Serpent Skin.’

Title ‘Lord (Count)’ applied.

Current Title Effects:

+Strength 20

+Stamina 10

+Dominance 30

Not enough to fight him head-on.

But enough to slip from his loosened grip.

Bang!

I slammed him into the wall and manifested one prepared cultivation.

Open Bamboo Tube 59.

Hwangyeon-uigu: A blue, cloth-like being. Flies swiftly. Controls flames. First edited text “Cheonye-rok.”

Something like fire.

Like flying cloth.

Like a woman wrapped in fabric.

The post-apocalyptic creature swallowed me whole.

Jeok-o turned—too late.

“What the—!”

Within the surging heat, the blue cloth slipped free.

Vanished cleanly.

Just like in the edited story.