January 24, 2015.
Beijing, Dongcheng District.
Tempest Café.
2:15 p.m.
The café was quiet.
Not because business was bad—business was actually surprisingly good, thanks to word of mouth about the strange new coffee shop with the silver-haired barista who made drinks that tasted like they'd been blessed by the heavens.
No, the café was quiet because Rimuru had declared the afternoon a "soft opening period" and locked the front door.
The sign on the window read:
"Closed for staff training. Will reopen at 5:00 p.m."
This was a lie.
The truth was that Rimuru was playing video games on his phone and didn't want to be interrupted.
THE PHONE
The phone was not a normal phone.
It was a device from 2077, acquired through means that Rimuru refused to explain, and it was more powerful than every supercomputer on Earth combined.
It could process infinite calculations in nanoseconds.
It could simulate entire universes.
It could hack into any system, access any database, and predict the future with terrifying accuracy.
Rimuru was using it to play Grand Theft Auto 12.
"No, no, no—" he muttered, thumbs flying across the screen. "You absolute moron, why would you drive into the helicopter?"
On screen, a digital car exploded in a spectacular fireball.
The words "WASTED" flashed across the display.
Rimuru groaned.
"This game is rigged."
THE PRINCESS
The princess was bored.
She had finished her cleaning duties two hours ago—the café was spotless, the pastries were stocked, and the coffee beans were organized by region and roast level.
Now she was sitting at a table near the window, watching Rimuru play his game with the expression of someone who desperately wanted to be doing anything else.
"What are you playing?" she asked.
Rimuru didn't look up.
"Grand Theft Auto 12. It's from the future. Well, a future. The Earth I'm on has a version where technology advanced faster."
The princess's golden eyes flickered with interest.
"Can I try?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you'll ruin my save file."
"I won't!"
"You will. You've never played a video game before. You'll press the wrong button and delete everything."
The princess pouted.
"That's not fair."
Rimuru glanced at her.
"Life isn't fair. Read a book."
THE THEFT
She moved faster than he expected.
One moment, she was sitting at the table.
The next, she was right next to him, snatching the phone from his hands.
"Hey!" Rimuru lunged for it. "Give that back!"
She danced away, holding the phone out of reach.
"I just want to try it! You can watch me and tell me if I'm doing something wrong!"
Rimuru glared at her.
"You're doing something wrong right now!"
THE LAP
The princess, apparently deciding that the best defense was to be as annoying as possible, walked back over to Rimuru's chair.
And then she sat down.
On his lap.
Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Rimuru froze.
"What are you doing?"
The princess had already started the game.
"Playing," she said, as if it were obvious.
"I can see that. Why are you sitting on me?"
She shrugged.
"I can't play standing up. And there's only one chair."
"There are five other chairs!"
"I like this one."
Rimuru sputtered.
"That's not—you can't just—I'm not a chair!"
"You're comfortable."
"That's not the point!"
THE GRUMBLING
The princess ignored him.
Her thumbs moved across the screen with surprising dexterity, guiding a digital car through a digital city.
"This is fun," she said.
Rimuru slumped back in the chair, defeated.
"You're going to ruin my account. I have thousands of hours on that save. Do you know how long it took me to build that character?"
The princess didn't look up.
"You said time doesn't matter to you."
"That doesn't mean I want to waste it!"
THE GAME
The phone's version of GTA 12 was unlike anything that existed in 2015.
It wasn't just a game—it was a simulation.
The city was infinite, procedurally generated, constantly evolving.
The NPCs had their own lives, their own routines, their own relationships.
The storyline adapted to player choices in real time, creating unique narratives for every playthrough.
And the timeline system...
The timeline system was the real masterpiece.
Every action the player took created branching possibilities—infinite timelines, infinite outcomes, all existing simultaneously within the game's architecture.
The player could jump between timelines at will, exploring alternate versions of their character's story.
It was, Rimuru had once calculated, the closest thing to actual godhood that a video game had ever achieved.
And the princess was currently driving a stolen motorcycle off a skyscraper.
"You're going to die," Rimuru said flatly.
"I'm not going to die," the princess replied.
"You're driving off a skyscraper."
"I'm building up speed."
"For what?"
"For the landing."
"There is no landing. There's only death."
The princess's golden eyes narrowed.
"Watch me."
THE EXPLOSION
The motorcycle hit the ground.
It exploded.
The screen flashed "WASTED" again.
The princess stared at the phone.
"That's... that's not fair."
Rimuru sighed.
"I told you."
"The physics in this game are broken!"
"The physics are perfect. You just don't understand how momentum works."
"I understand momentum!"
"Clearly not."
THE RESPAWN
The princess respawned.
She immediately stole another motorcycle.
"Don't," Rimuru said.
"I'm going to try a different angle."
"It's not about the angle. It's about the fact that you can't fly."
"Can I unlock flying?"
Rimuru stared at her.
"No. It's Grand Theft Auto. There's no flying."
"Then how do people get to the flying islands?"
Rimuru blinked.
"What flying islands?"
The princess pointed at the screen.
"Those ones. In the sky."
Rimuru looked.
There were, in fact, flying islands in the distance.
"That's... that's not in the base game."
The princess tilted her head.
"Maybe it's a mod?"
"I don't have mods."
"Then maybe it's part of the timeline system. Like, a future version of the game that exists in an alternate timeline?"
Rimuru stared at the screen.
Then at the princess.
Then at the screen again.
"Give me the phone."
"No! I'm playing!"
"I need to see this."
"You said I could play!"
"I've changed my mind!"
THE STRUGGLE
They fought over the phone.
The princess twisted away, holding it out of reach.
Rimuru grabbed for it, his fingers closing on empty air.
"Give it back!"
"No!"
"You're going to break it!"
"I'm not going to break it! You're the one who's going to break it by being grabby!"
"I'm not grabby! You're the one who stole it!"
"You weren't using it!"
"I was!"
"You were losing!"
"That doesn't mean I wasn't using it!"
THE WITNESS
The front door opened.
A customer walked in—a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a shopping bag from the nearby market.
She stopped in the doorway.
Stared at the scene in front of her.
Two silver-haired, golden-eyed figures—one sitting in a chair, the other sitting on the first one's lap—wrestling over a phone like children.
The woman blinked.
"Oh my," she said. "You two look exactly like twins."
THE DENIAL
Rimuru's head snapped up.
"We're not twins."
The woman smiled knowingly.
"Of course not, dear. You just have the same hair, same eyes, same face. That's perfectly normal."
Rimuru's eye twitched.
"She's a child. I'm—"
He stopped.
How old was he?
Seven hundred thousand years?
More?
Time got fuzzy after the first few millennia.
"I'm older than her grandmother," he finished.
The woman's smile didn't waver.
"Of course you are, dear. Now, is the café open? I'd love a cup of tea."
THE TEA
The princess finally got off Rimuru's lap.
She handed the phone back—reluctantly—and went to wash her hands.
Rimuru straightened his clothes and moved behind the counter.
"What kind of tea would you like?" he asked, his voice carefully professional.
The woman considered.
"Something calming. It's been a stressful day."
Rimuru nodded.
"I have just the thing."
He began preparing a blend of chamomile and lavender, his movements precise and practiced.
The woman watched him.
"You know," she said, "you really do look like sisters. Even if you say you're not."
Rimuru's hand twitched.
"We're not sisters."
"Friends, then?"
"Something like that."
The woman chuckled.
"My daughter and her best friend argue like that all the time. It's a sign of closeness."
Rimuru didn't respond.
He just poured the tea and slid it across the counter.
"On the house," he said. "For the inconvenience."
THE PRINCESS'S RETURN
The princess came back from the bathroom.
Her hair was slightly damp, and she had an expression of wounded dignity.
"I can't believe you said I was a child," she said.
Rimuru didn't look at her.
"You are a child."
"I'm fifteen!"
"Exactly."
"That's not a child!"
"In demon years, maybe. In human years, you're still a teenager."
The princess crossed her arms.
"You said you're seven hundred thousand years old. So compared to you, everyone is a child."
Rimuru paused.
"That's... actually a fair point."
"Thank you."
"Doesn't change the fact that you stole my phone."
The princess huffed.
"You weren't using it!"
THE GAME AGAIN
Later, after the customer had left and the café was quiet again, Rimuru sat at a table, scrolling through his phone.
The princess sat across from him, her chin resting on her hands.
"Can I play again?" she asked.
Rimuru didn't look up.
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"I'll be careful this time."
"You drove a motorcycle off a skyscraper."
"I was experimenting."
"You were being reckless."
"Same thing."
Rimuru sighed.
He looked at her.
She was pouting.
It was, he admitted, a very effective pout.
"Fine," he said. "But if you ruin my save, I'm locking you in the pouch with the Impostor."
The princess's face lit up.
"Really?"
"Really."
She snatched the phone.
And immediately drove another motorcycle off another skyscraper.
Rimuru watched the explosion in silence.
Then he buried his face in his hands.
"I should have stayed in the Imaginary Space."