The bus finally touched down with a gentle thrum, the white platform rising to meet it as the doors slid open. Gara and Jack stepped off and were immediately bathed in the soft shimmer of the White Clouds—a land where dreamlike cloud mist swirled around the feet of passersby, giving the illusion that all life walked on air. Wooden bridges arched from one floating street to another, cloud-based signage gently pulsed with light, and the scent of spice tea and grilled meats lingered in the breeze.
Gara and Jack descended the steps and began walking down the familiar street toward their neighborhood. The usual liveliness was in full swing—vendors calling out about today's freshest Fragment Fruits, courier hawks zooming overhead, and Players lounging at cloud-side cafés going over their latest runs.
The moment Gara's face was spotted, reactions bubbled up from the crowd.
"Oi! Gara! Back from [Ice Ninja] again?"
"Did the snow finally teach you fire, or did you just freeze in style this time?"
"Four runs! You trying to become a snowman with trauma?"
Gara waved sheepishly, grinning as they passed by.
"Haha, no trauma this time—I made friends with a dragon!" he called out.
There was a pause. Then laughter erupted.
"Of course you did!"
"Let me guess, you adopted him too?"
"Can I pet the dragon? Is he housebroken?"
Gara shook his head with a chuckle. "You'll all eat your words when he's breathing fire next to me!"
Jack trailed slightly behind him, hands in his pockets. A few people nodded at him or gave a polite wave.
"Oh hey, Jack. Didn't see you there."
"Sup."
"Still married? Miracles do happen."
Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing sideways at Gara. "You ever wonder how I'm the D Ranker, but you're the celebrity?"
Gara flashed a grin. "Easy. You married up. I suffer for content."
Jack groaned. "Should've let that newbie get lost in the [Fantastical World of Arts]..."
They both laughed, continuing their stroll through the floating streets of the White Clouds, the sun high above casting golden halos across the cottony walkways.
Jack walked a half step behind Gara, his short, spiked green hair catching the sunlight like blades of grass in a breeze. His eyes—sharp and the same vivid green—flicked around with relaxed awareness.
He wore a long green robe, styled like the formal attire of ancient nobility, elegant yet built for motion. It split cleanly at the sides, revealing fitted black pants underneath, and the cloth shimmered subtly as he moved.
Two short swords hung at his hips, their dark scabbards trimmed in silver, resting like they belonged there—as natural as his stride.
One of the passing kids from a nearby tea stall caught sight of him and whispered, "That guy looks serious..."
Another leaned in and replied, "That's Jack. He's strong, but he's not famous like Gara."
Jack sighed. "Even the children…"
Gara burst out laughing. "Told you, man. You should've taken up juggling or something. Fame's all about brand."
Jack rolled his eyes. "My swords are my brand."
"Exactly. Boring," Gara said with a grin.
The reason Gara and Jack were so well-known on this particular street of the White Clouds wasn't just because they lived there—it was because they were Story Guides, a respected (and often gossiped-about) profession in the Story World.
But more than that, both of them possessed something rare: Original Stories. In a world where most Players clung to Borrowed, Sponsored, or Inherited tales, crafting one's own Original Story was like walking a tightrope in a thunderstorm—difficult, risky, and usually unrewarded. But when it did work? People noticed.
Owning an Original Story wasn't just a sign of talent; it was proof of creativity and sheer stubborn will. So when word got out that two relatively young F and D Rankers not only had Originals but were also employed as Story Guides under none other than the famous A Ranker [Hiro Hunter], Dante himself—well, naturally, the neighborhood took an interest.
And then there was Gara. Friendly, loud, too talkative for his own good, and someone who waved at every single person he passed like they were an old friend. He'd become something of a local character. It helped that he actually remembered names. Shopkeepers, retired Rankers, old grannies growing cloud cabbage on their balconies—Gara chatted with them all.
"Oi, Gara! Fourth run in [Ice Ninja], huh?" a middle-aged woman called from her noodle stand.
"Yup!" Gara waved. "Didn't die this time either!"
"You're getting soft!"
"Made friends with a dragon, Auntie!"
"Uh-huh, and I made friends with a CEM last week."
Jack just walked beside him, nodding slightly whenever someone acknowledged him—but it was clear who the star was. He muttered, "Maybe I should try juggling…"
Gara gave him a thumbs-up without even turning. "You'd be famous by next week."
As they continued forward, the scenery of the White Clouds shifted around them—glistening buildings resting atop fluffy foundations, rope bridges made of light, and steam-breathing cloud vents humming quietly between alleyways. It was all so dreamlike that even seasoned Players sometimes caught themselves marveling.
At a large intersection where two wide cloud-paved roads forked off, Jack came to a stop. "Alright," he said, stretching lightly, "I'll go see the wife first. Then drop by the workshop later to talk with Dante."
Gara nodded. "Give my greetings to Big Sis Elena."
Jack chuckled. "I will—assuming she lets me speak before trying to stab me."
The two bumped hands and shook, a firm grip that carried years of trust. Then Jack turned right, raising one hand in a lazy wave as he walked away. "Don't burn down the Workshop, yeah?"
"No promises!" Gara called back with a grin, waving until Jack disappeared into the gentle crowd.
With a light sigh and a glance around the lively street, Gara turned left. Unlike Jack, he didn't have a house here. Never had. He just lived at the Workshop—Dante's Workshop—sleeping in a half-furnished room.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was free. No rent, no paperwork, no cleaning fees. And for someone who used to sleep behind neon billboards back in his first days in the Story World, that counted as luxury.
Of course… he also got bossed around like a glorified errand boy. Every time Dante wanted coffee, food, delivery pickups, or just someone to blame for the workshop cat chewing through scrolls… guess who got volunteered?
Still, Gara admitted (grudgingly) that he did appreciate the guy—for the roof, the food, and the chance to be a Guide.
He rolled his shoulders, sighed again, and muttered, "Let's see what the tyrant wants today…"
As Gara made his way down the soft, bustling road lined with cloud-anchored stalls and gently floating lanterns, something tugged at his attention—a soft, wheezing cough from the side of the road.
He turned his head and saw her. An elderly woman sat slouched against a lamp post shaped like a blooming flower, her hands trembling as she cupped them in front of her. Her voice cracked as she spoke, almost drowned out by the chatter and footsteps all around.
"Just one… One Green Core… please… just need to eat…"
Her Story Tag flickered weakly. A Borrowed Story. Weak, outdated. Probably didn't generate more than a Core every few days, and at her age, she didn't have the strength to challenge even the mildest Fragments. Players aged too, even inside the Story World.
Gara's heart twisted.
Most people walked past without a glance, or worse, with guilt-tinged avoidance. He sighed and reached into the air in front of him, summoning three Green Cores with a flick of his fingers. They shimmered in his palm like tiny emerald lights.
"Here," he said gently, stepping forward and placing them in her hands.
The granny's eyes widened as if she'd just been given a White Core. "Oh… oh thank you… thank you, kind one… thank you…"
"It's alright," Gara replied, already waving her thanks away. "Make sure to eat something warm, okay?"
She nodded through her tears, but Gara had already turned and resumed his walk. The weight in his chest didn't lift—it never did in moments like these. He didn't have the power to fix the system. Not yet.
But he could ease it. One person at a time.
And yet—barely twenty steps forward, the world shattered again.
Gara froze.
He heard it. The sound of desperate sobbing, the choked words of someone betrayed. He turned sharply on his heel.
The granny.
She was crying now—louder than before, her body hunched smaller, thinner. A young man in a red jacket was walking away with something clenched in his hand. One of the three Green Cores. He didn't even bother to run.
Gara's fists curled.
His teeth sank into his lower lip until he tasted iron. His heart thundered in his chest—not just from rage, but from restraint. His eyes burned as he watched the thief disappear into the crowd like smoke, uncaring, untouched.
He didn't move. Didn't chase. Didn't shout.
He turned his back and walked on.
Inside, his thoughts churned like boiling tar.
'Coward. That bastard. Stealing from a starving granny? You've got nothing but that borrowed scrap of a story and that's what you do?'
But his anger wasn't just for the thief.
It was for himself.
'You could've stopped him. You could've blasted him flat with one swing of the Geru Sword.'
He could have. His Original Story, [Root of All Things], might only be F Rank, but it was his. Pure, flexible, real. And more than strong enough to handle a trash-tier Borrowed Story punk like that.
But he didn't.
Because he knew who that punk worked for.
The Red Point Gang—scum that operated in this district like they owned it. Their so-called boss was an E Ranker with a Borrowed Story: [Red Point], some secondhand mid-tier combat tale. The original user was only a C Ranker.
Gara could take him.
But he didn't.
Because behind [Red Point]… was [Blue Sword].
An A Ranker.
And more than that—a member of the Grey Rose Organization. The same Organization that ruled over the White Clouds, one of the 13 Strongest Factions in the entirety of the Story World.
[Blue Sword] was someone who hated Dante with a passion.
'If I make a move, [Blue Sword] will come after me just to get a reason to fight Dante, and Dante will beat him... And that will end up bringing trouble with the Grey Rose Organization.'
So he kept walking.
He hated it. Hated himself.
But he kept walking.
What kind of hero turns his back like that?
...
It didn't take him long to reach it.
A small, two-story building stood quietly between taller structures, almost like it didn't want to be noticed. Its entrance was framed like that of an old tavern—arched wood, a hanging lantern, and windows that glowed faintly with golden light.
Above the door, swinging gently in the breeze, hung a worn wooden sign. On it, in bold hand-painted letters, it read:
Story Guides Workshop
This was it.
Where Dante worked.
Where the other Guides came and went.
And where Gara—red-haired, tired, a little angry, and a little lost—called home.
There weren't many Story Guides who worked at the Workshop, but the ones who did were all a little… different. Not in the "quirky" sense—though that too—but in the rare, remarkable sense of all being holders of Original Stories. In the Story World, that alone made them stand out like fireflies in a sea of dull lamps.
At the top was their leader, Dante, the infamous A Ranker with a long red coat and sharp tongue. His story was [Hiro Hunter], and he was known for turning down more requests than he accepted. Rumors said he once told an S Ranker to get lost because they "looked annoying."
Then there was Jack, the cheerful D Ranker with [Two Swords], short green hair, and a reliable presence like an older brother who was just competent enough to make you feel lazy.
Gara himself, a mere F Ranker with [Root of All Things], rounded out the junior ranks, even though "junior" didn't quite fit anymore. He wasn't a newbie, but he also wasn't doing much to climb the ladder. Not yet.
Next was Elena, Jack's wife. E Ranker. Quiet, sharp-eyed, with the story [Blue Winds]. She treated Gara like a little brother, which sometimes meant affection… and sometimes meant death threats via kitchen spoon.
Aside from them, there were two others who were rarely around.
One was a C Ranker, a mysterious woman with a glass-like body. The other was a B Ranker, some legendary Story Guide who guided from the shadows and hadn't been seen in months.
Every one of them owned an Original Story. Gara had asked Dante once if that was on purpose.
Dante had looked at him, chewed his snack stick, and shrugged. "Nah. Just coincidence."
Gara still wasn't sure if he believed him.
Aside from that, it was also interesting how all of them represented a Rank, Gara at F, Elena at E, Jack at D, the glass woman at C, the mysterious guide at B, and Dante himself at A.
The red-haired young man sighed lightly and stepped through the doors of the Story Guides Workshop. The wooden frame creaked gently as he entered, the scent of old parchment, and tea leaves hanging in the air.
And just like he expected—there he was.
Legs kicked up on the table like he owned the place. Which, well, technically, he did.
Dante.
The A Ranker with the Original Story [Hiro Hunter], master of the Workshop and eternal source of headaches for Gara.
He lounged in one of the tavern-like chairs, back slouched, utterly relaxed in a way that annoyed Gara for reasons he could never quite articulate. His white hair was as wild as always, and his sharp brown eyes were locked on a small floating blue menu screen—replaying a Recitation by none other than the famed [Traveler].
Dante didn't even look up. He wore that long crimson trench coat like he was born in it, the dramatic folds sweeping around him like some dashing rogue noble.
Beneath it, his red shirt bore a subtle diamond pattern, buttoned all the way to the collar, paired with a crisp black tie. Black gloves covered his hands—because of course they did—and the black belt and pants completed the bold, signature red-and-black palette.
He looked like a man who either hunted villains… or was the villain.
"Back from your dramatic Fragment re-run?" Dante asked, still not sparing Gara a glance.
Gara groaned. "At least pretend to ask how I am first."
"I figured if anything important happened, it would've shown up in the replay logs," Dante muttered, casually rewinding the Recitation screen with a flick of his gloved fingers.
"Right, because making friends with a dragon totally isn't newsworthy."
That got Dante to pause. He arched an eyebrow, looked up at Gara at last, and tilted his head. "...E Rank dragon, or something that can actually sneeze out a volcano?"
Gara smirked. "Ask the Fragment logs."
Dante clicked his tongue. "Brag later. Kitchen's still got leftovers if you're starving. And no, I didn't poison them. This time."
Gara stared at him for a long moment, unblinking.
Dante let out a dramatic sigh, finally giving in. "...Fine. How are you?"
The red-haired young man smiled faintly, tension easing just a bit. "I'm doing well. What about you?"
Dante leaned back further in his chair, lacing his gloved fingers behind his head. "Honestly? Kinda rough." He turned his head toward Gara with a flat look. "No one's been here to serve me coffee in the mornings."
Gara's eyebrow twitched. Just once. Violently.
He didn't say anything. He couldn't. His jaw locked tight as he clenched his hands behind his back. His inner thoughts were a quiet storm.
'Calm down. He's letting you live here rent free. Free food. Free water. Deep breaths. You don't need a murder charge today.'
Dante, of course, was completely unbothered.
"Also," he added, stretching with a satisfied sigh, "I think I overwatered the kitchen bonsai again. That thing's looking extra dead."
Gara's soul briefly left his body.
Dante then added, without even glancing up from the glowing blue screen in front of him as he flicked through options on the Records of the Blue Trade Organization, "Hey, while you're back there, make me some coffee."
Gara paused mid-step, slowly turning his head toward him, his expression unreadable. The red-haired young man stared at Dante for a long, silent moment. Just as he opened his mouth—no doubt to deliver a sarcastic reply—Dante cut in, still not looking away from the screen.
"What's better," he said casually, "making me coffee... or living on the streets?"
Gara's jaw clenched.
He said nothing.
Not a word.
Just exhaled through his nose, hard, and turned away, walking behind the tavern counter and through the open doorway into the kitchen.
His footsteps were calm. Controlled.
But inside?
'One day,' he thought bitterly, 'one day I'm going to be an A Ranker. And when that day comes... I'm going to make him coffee—with salt instead of sugar.'
The door swung shut behind him with a soft creak.
...
A little later, Gara sat at the opposite end of the table, hunched slightly over his steaming bowl of soup, spoon clinking softly as he ate. Dante, as usual, was leaning back with his boots still propped on the table, sipping from the mug of coffee Gara had begrudgingly made for him, eyes glued to the flickering blue screen hovering in front of him.
Gara glanced up mid-spoonful and squinted at the screen.
"...Seriously? Again?" he muttered, lips tugging into a crooked frown. "You're watching that playthrough again?"
Dante didn't even flinch. "Yup."
Gara dropped his spoon into the bowl with a dull clink. "You've seen every adventure the [Traveler] ever went on. Every Recitation he ever made. Like, five times. Don't you ever get bored?"
Dante finally turned his head, just slightly, one eyebrow raised like the question itself was offensive. "Bored? This is the [Traveler] we're talking about. Z Ranker. One of the top two Reciters in the entire Story World. The man's a living legend."
"Yeah, yeah," Gara waved a hand. "I've watched his stuff too, everyone has. He's cool. I get it. But over and over again? Isn't that, I don't know... a little obsessive?"
Dante took another long sip, then replied coolly, "I learn something new every time."
Gara stared.
"…Like what? His dramatic cape flips? The way he always pauses before giving a monologue?"
Dante nodded, dead serious. "Exactly."
Gara dropped his head into his hand with a sigh. "Unbelievable."
"Hey, when you're a Z Ranker, you can binge your own replays too," Dante added with a smirk.
Gara lifted his head just enough to glare. "When I'm a Z Ranker, I'm erasing this moment."
He then shook his head and returned to his soup, letting Dante have his obsessive fan moment with the [Traveler] in peace. The comforting warmth of the meal helped ease the lingering frustration from earlier, and for a few quiet minutes, neither of them spoke—just the occasional clink of spoon against bowl and the low hum of sound from the Blue Trade Records.
Then, just as Gara was finishing his last bite, Dante spoke.
"By the way," he said casually, still sipping his coffee and eyes on the screen, "someone came by asking for you while you were out."
Gara blinked, nearly choking on the final spoonful. He set the bowl down, wiping his mouth. "Wait—what? Who?"
"A Player," Dante replied. "F Ranker. Like you. Said he wanted you to guide him through a Fragment. He's still waiting for you."
Gara leaned forward, surprised. "Me? Seriously?"
Dante gave a short nod. "Seemed serious too."
"When was this?"
"Two days ago."
Gara nearly tipped his chair back in shock. "Two days!? And they're still waiting?! That… makes no sense. I mean, yeah, Story Guides are rare—but not that rare. There are hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of them in the Story World. Most Players wouldn't wait around. They'd find someone else within hours."
Dante finally turned his head to look directly at him, expression oddly unreadable. "You still don't get it, do you?"
Gara raised an eyebrow. "Get what?"
"This Player," Dante said slowly, "didn't want a Story Guide. He wanted you. Specifically."
That stunned Gara into silence for a moment. He blinked, trying to process that. "But why? I've only guided three people ever, and it's not like I'm famous or anything..."
Dante just smirked, stood, stretched, and finished off the last of his coffee. "Rest up first. You look like crap."
"Gee, thanks."
"I'll explain more later," Dante added, already walking toward the stairs that led to the upper rooms. "Take a nap. You're gonna want to be fresh for this."
Gara sat there, frowning slightly, still trying to wrap his head around it. Someone had waited two days just to be guided by him. And Dante's tone… he clearly knew something more.
'Guess I really do need that nap,' Gara thought, slowly standing up and heading toward his room upstairs, thoughts turning over restlessly all the while.
...
Inside his room, the air was still and quiet. The space was small—just four wooden walls, plain and clean, with a slightly creaky floor that whispered softly with each step. A single bed lay tucked into the corner, its blanket neatly folded over, and beside it stood a simple desk, mostly empty save for a dull lamp and a closed notebook. Across from the bed, a narrow window let in soft golden sunlight, streaking through the dust in the air.
Gara stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. He walked over to the window and drew the black curtains shut, cutting off the rays of the afternoon sun. The room darkened, only the faintest outline of light outlining the edges of the curtain.
He sat on the bed and let out a quiet sigh, shoulders slumping a little. His body still ached faintly—a phantom echo of the bruises and strain from the [Ice Ninja] Fragment. He had spent four months inside that world. Four months of snow, of training, of fighting… of bonding.
And out here?
Just a week had passed.
He shook his head slowly, sinking into the mattress and staring up at the wooden ceiling. His hands folded across his stomach as he tried to let his mind go blank.
But it didn't work.
The image came back to him immediately—clear as if it were happening now.
The old woman. Her frail figure hunched by the road. Her voice trembling as she begged for food. And that bastard in the red jacket, smirking as he snatched one of the Green Cores from her trembling hands.
Gara's jaw clenched tightly. His eyes narrowed. Inside, a familiar fury rose—hot and sharp and bitter. The kind that made his blood itch.
He could've stopped it. He should have stopped it.
But he didn't.
Because of [Red Point].
Because of the A Ranker hiding behind him—[Blue Sword], the Grey Rose dog.
Because he didn't want to cause problems for Dante.
'Stupid excuse,' he thought bitterly, his fists curling atop his stomach. 'I just… didn't want to bring more heat down.'
Gara closed his eyes, forcing a slow breath through his nose.
He had to let it go.
There wasn't anything he could do now—not yet, anyway.
"…Just sleep," he murmured under his breath, almost like an order to himself.
And with another long exhale, he let the anger settle somewhere deep inside, like a blade buried in snow, and allowed the dark quiet of the room to take him.
—End of Chapter.
-------
[Private Text Log: Reader_1412 ↔ Gara]
Reader_1412: Bro! I waited the entire chapter for you to punch that red jacket guy!! And you just… walked away??
Gara: Look man, I wanted to punch him too! I bit my lip and bled, that's how you know it was serious.
Reader_1412: Seriously thought u were gonna go full anime justice speech, "The weak must be protected!!", but nah! You just emotionally combusted and went to bed.
Gara: First of all, rude but accurate. Second, do YOU wanna beef with an A Ranker who hates your boss?
Reader_1412: I eat trauma for breakfast bro, let me in the story and I'll solo red jacket and his boss too!!
Gara: If you solo him, I'll buy you a house in White Clouds. With working plumbing!
Reader_1412: You know I live off of a Borrowed Story with 2 Green Cores income a week, don't play with my heart like that!!!
Gara: Then we suffer together, my brother in poverty. Now get some sleep, we riot next arc!!