The silence between them was suffocating.

His lips curling into a crooked, almost tender smile.

His orange hair gleamed faintly under the dim chandelier light, strands slicked back in eerie neatness.

His eyes were amber and feverish.

He bowed slightly, right hand pressed against his chest.

"...You can call me Orange," he said softly.

"A pen name, if you will."

Orange chuckled lowly, straightening up. His eyes clouded, as if recalling something distant.

"I remember it clear as day," he murmured. "The beginning of the end."

And then—

The mansion disappeared.

The world rippled, bending into a memory.

---

A bell rang somewhere down the marble corridor, shrill and insistent. The air was filled with the chatter of students running through the halls of Ravenwood Academy.

The girl with bright orange hair sprinted past the crowd, her shoes echoing across the polished floors.

Her uniform was slightly disheveled, ribbon undone, breath ragged.

Something was terribly wrong.

Students murmured and gathered near the end of the hallway. Knights in silver armor stood outside a doorway, their expressions grim. The academy crest shimmered faintly on their breastplates, but even they refused to look at what was beyond the door.

"Move!" she shouted, shoving through the throng.

Her heart thundered as she pushed past the last line of students and peered inside.

For a moment, her mind refused to process what she saw.

A girl in the same academy uniform hung from the ceiling beam.

Her body swayed slightly, the sound of the rope creaking with every movement. Her shoes lay on the floor beneath her—neatly placed, as if arranged deliberately.

The orange-haired girl's eyes widened, trembling violently as she took a step forward, hand over her mouth.

Her beloved.

The same girl who had smiled with her at breakfast that very morning now hung lifeless, eyes glassy and empty.

A cold wave of disbelief crawled up her spine. The world tilted, sounds muffling, faces around her blurring.

She reached out instinctively—only to feel her knees give way beneath her.

And then, faintly, the world began to ripple.

Reality twisted. The walls warped into static.

Students screamed as their faces stretched into white noise, their bodies tearing apart like paper.

The hallway shattered.

And everything collapsed.

---

When he opened his eyes again, the light was gone.

The air was heavy, thick.

He lay in darkness, his head pounding.

He could feel breath his breath but the rhythm was wrong, too deep, too slow.

He raised his hands, staring at fingers that weren't his own.

And when he caught sight of the mirror nearby his heart froze.

Orange hair.

His reflection stared back at him—a grown man.

He was alive, but not himself.

Days bled into nights. The streets were unfamiliar, the world different, as if rewritten.

He wandered until one day, while passing a bulletin board outside a large manor, he saw a parchment notice fluttering in the wind:

["Help Wanted – Personal Attendant for House Bluerose"]

When he went for the interview, he didn't care about pay or position. He just wanted to see her again.

And when he did—when he saw Amy Blue Rose for the first time again—his heart filled with something grotesque and euphoric.

Every smile, every gesture, every word was all the same.

The same girl.

His creation brought back to life in flesh and blood.

---

The flashback ended like a candle snuffed out.

The world returned to the dim mansion corridor, lit only by dying flames and shadows that crawled across the walls.

Orange's eyes gleamed as he spread his arms slightly, the hem of his cloak brushing the floor.

"And now…"

A faint clink echoed.

A chain dropped from the ceiling above—its links thick and black.

At the end of it, Amy Blue Rose hung limp, her wrists bound above her head, head drooping, faint bruises marking her pale neck.

Her breathing was shallow, almost imperceptible.

Noah's eyes darkened.

Orange walked to her, his steps almost reverent.

He brushed her hair gently away from her face.

The strands of blue shimmered faintly in the low light.

"This girl," he whispered, "is my everything. The most perfect OC I ever made."

He took a lock of Amy's hair between his fingers, inhaling deeply before letting out a slow, shuddering sigh.

His expression shifted from bliss to madness in seconds.

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, dragging his tongue along her skin.

"She smells the same… soft, cold...and divine!"

Noah's grip on his cane tightened, the faint metallic hum of Chrome resonating from within it.

Orange turned, smile stretching unnaturally.

"And when I saw your filthy face at the mansion months ago..." he hissed.

"I hoped you had died in that other timeline."

Noah said nothing.

Orange's grin widened.

"You were supposed to die, Noah. That was the intended scenario!

Maya Brenthall was meant to lose herself—to become corrupted by grief and vengeance! Amy was meant to shine as a heroine, just like I had written it!"

His voice cracked mid-sentence, fury twisting into hysteria.

"You ruined it! You ruined everything!"

Noah's silence was deafening, a stillness sharper than any blade.

His mind raced each word confirming what he already suspected.

This man...this thing...wasn't just delusional.

He knew the game's progression.

Was he truly… the author?

Noah finally spoke, his voice low and even.

"Was it you?" he asked.

"Did you take away my system?"

Orange blinked.

"Your system?"

He chuckled, then laughed—an unhinged, echoing laugh that filled the hall.

"Oh no, no, no.

I never made such a thing.

That ridiculous overlay of stats and choices was the devs' idea.

A cheap way to make my story interactive!" He spat the last word.

"They desecrated my masterpiece with their numbers and level bars!"

He stepped closer, his expression twisting again into rage.

"I wrote beauty...They made it a game!"

He turned away for a second, almost muttering to himself.

"Do you know how that feels, Noah? To have your creation mangled, torn apart, turned into fanfiction by corporate hands?"

His gaze snapped back to Noah.

"But you...you're the worst of them all. A soul from Earth that slipped in. You took a body that wasn't yours and threw the world off balance."

He raised one trembling hand, eyes glowing with madness.

"So I'll fix it."

A sharp, metallic click reverberated through the air.

Behind him, glowing circles appeared midair—summoning arrays twisting into existence. Within them, guns began to materialize.

Revolvers. Pistols. Rifles. Dozens of them—some ornate, some crude...floating around Orange.

Their barrels all turned toward one target.

Noah.

A faint tremor of realization rippled through him.

'He can create firearms just like that…'

The air grew colder.

'So he was the one who sold the idea of gunpowder and blueprints to the Crimson Workshop…'

Noah's heartbeat slowed and his eyes narrowed.

He had found him.

Orange smiled, tilting his head, eyes glinting with feverish light.

"Goodbye, anomaly..."

His fingers snapped.

The mansion exploded with the thunder of gunfire—