The glowing mission text didn't disappear even after I muttered "nope" a few times. Find the Traitor. Yeah, right.
I leaned back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. I'd barely survived two gunfights, learned to "save progress," and somehow earned the title Don of a criminal empire I didn't even know existed. Now I was supposed to hunt down a traitor? I could barely find the bathroom without a map.
My eyes drifted to a wall calendar beside the bed. May 4th. I stared at it for a moment, then chuckled weakly. "Star Wars Day. Great. May the Fourth be with me, I guess."
I closed my eyes. Just a quick nap, I thought. Maybe when I wake up, this whole SinCity madness will make sense.
But when I opened my eyes again, sunlight was streaming through the same window, the same pattern on the floor, the same birds outside. For a second, it felt normal. Then I turned my head. The same calendar, the same date. May 4th.
I frowned and sat up as I looked again. The same neat red circle around the number.
"You've got to be kidding me."
I rubbed my face and let out a short laugh. "Oh, perfect. I can't even leave the day. Thank you, Re:Zero. Guess I'm living the reset dream now."
So the world resets when I sleep. That's new. And by "new," I mean horrifying.
I pushed off the bed and stretched my arm. The pain from last night was gone, but I still remembered every second of it. The heat, the shock, the blur before dying. It was stuck in my head like a memory I couldn't delete.
"Okay, Ethan," I muttered as I forced myself to breathe. "Find the traitor. Sure. How? You don't even know who's who."
Then I remembered Marco. 92% loyalty. That was something. Maybe he knew what was going on.
I walked to the door, hesitated, then opened it.
The mansion was quiet, early morning kind of quiet. The smell of polished wood and faint cologne hung in the air. As I stepped into the hallway, something flickered again. Text was hovering above people's heads as they walked by.
[NPC - Theodore Riviera - Guard]
[NPC - Andrea Leone - Maid]
[NPC - Unknown]
Names. Roles. Tags. It was like a living HUD.
I couldn't help but whisper, "This is so damn cool," then quickly added, "and terrifying."
I walked toward the nearest guard, a tall guy with a square jaw and a rifle slung across his chest. His tag read Theodore Riviera - NPC. I cleared my throat.
"Uh, Theo."
He turned instantly, his posture went straight. "Don?"
And there it was again. That voice. My voice, but not mine. It was deeper, confident, the kind of tone that made people listen. Even when I was hesitating inside, the voice that came out didn't sound uncertain. It sounded like a boss. Like Antonio Voss.
"Where's Marco?" I asked, keeping it short.
"In the conference room, Don," Theo replied. "The others are waiting too."
"Right," I said as I nodded like I actually knew where that was.
But the moment I thought it, a small map blinked to life in my vision. It was showing a pulsing blue dot with a marker that read Conference Room - 25m.
I blinked twice, half in awe. "Would you look at that," I muttered, and started walking.
The mansion stretched out like a maze of marble, each corridor was guarded by men in suits who bowed slightly when I passed. Two more guards stood by a pair of large wooden doors ahead, unarmed but watching me closely.
As soon as I got close, one of them said, "Don's here," and pushed the doors open.
The room was massive with a long table stretching nearly the entire length. Seventeen chairs. Eight on each side, and one larger one at the far end. Empty, clearly mine.
Sixteen faces turned to me as I stepped in. Everyone stood.
"You've got this, Ethan," I whispered to myself. "It's a game. You've played The Godfather, Mafia, Red Dead Redemption. Just roleplay. You're the boss."
I nodded once, the kind of slow, practiced nod I'd seen mobsters do in movies, and made my way to the chair. Everyone stayed standing until I sat. Then they sat too, like synchronized puppets.
For a few seconds, I didn't know what to say. Then I realized I didn't have to, because my vision lit up again. Stats were hovering over each person like floating name tags.
> [Marco Vitelli - Loyalty: 92% - Lieutenant]
[Clara Moreni - Loyalty: 68% - Consigliere]
[Vince Rocco - Loyalty: 54% - Enforcer]
[Leon "Leo" Bianchi - Loyalty: 61% - Underboss]
[Selena Russo - Loyalty: 74% - Accountant]
[Carlo D'Amato - Loyalty: 45% - Arms Dealer]
[Benita Ricci - Loyalty: 59% - "Associate"]
[Vince Mancini - Loyalty: 87% - "Lieutenant"]
The list went on. All names, all stats. No NPCs. Every single person here was "real" in the game's world, and most of them looked like they'd stab me the second I turned my back.
Even Marco, the guy with the highest loyalty bar I'd seen so far, was sitting five seats down from my right. If seating meant power, he wasn't even in the top five.
I scanned the table again. Low loyalty across the board. Too low. Anything below seventy felt dangerous. I'd played enough games to know what that meant. Betrayal chance is high, especially when you're the boss everyone secretly hates.
"Don?" Carlo's voice snapped me out of it.
I turned toward him and tried to look calm. "Yeah," I said smoothly. "Just thinking."
He nodded slowly as he leaned forward. "We heard you took some hits yesterday. You doing okay?"
I gave a small shrug. "I've had worse." Which was technically true. Two bullets and one respawn worse.
The air felt heavy, though. Too quiet, too rehearsed. They were watching me, reading me, like they could tell something was off.
"So," I said as I drummed my fingers lightly on the table, "where do we stand?"
It was a gamble. Vague enough to sound like a boss question, broad enough for someone to fill in the blanks.
Leon, the underboss, cleared his throat. "We've tightened security around the docks, Don. After what happened last week, we can't afford more leaks."
Leaks. Great. So betrayal wasn't new around here.
I nodded and pretended to think deeply, though my brain was busy connecting dots it didn't have.
Then the mission text flickered again at the corner of my vision, glowing faintly.
> Find the Traitor. Progress: 0%.
The words made my stomach drop. This wasn't a suggestion. It was an active mission. Meaning the traitor was in this room.
I forced myself to look at their faces, one by one. Marco's easy confidence, Leon's calm smirk, Clara's eyes flicking toward the door, Vince's restless tapping fingers. Any of them could be the one.
Marco leaned slightly forward. "You want me to start the reports, boss?"
I blinked and nodded quickly. "Yeah. Go ahead."
He started talking about shipments, deals, accounts. Half the words barely made sense to me. I just nodded at intervals, the way someone pretends to understand a complex movie plot halfway through.
But all I could think about was the glowing mission. The traitor. The date that wouldn't change. Maybe this was the trick. I wasn't supposed to leave the day until I completed the mission. Maybe sleeping without finishing it reset the loop.
My chest felt tight. I didn't belong here. I wasn't Antonio Voss. I was a random guy who just wanted to play a game.
But I had to act the part, at least until I figured out how to survive.
The room went quiet again as Marco finished his report. Everyone looked at me, waiting for whatever "Don Voss" usually said.
I straightened in the chair, met their eyes one by one, and said, "Good. Keep it that way. No mistakes."
It came out smooth, steady. Antonio's voice again, not mine.
They nodded as they were murmuring agreements, and I could feel their gazes flicking to each other, calculating.
Then the mission text blinked again. Progress: 5%.
I didn't even know what I did right. But I wasn't complaining.
The meeting dragged on for another few minutes before it ended. Everyone stood again when I did. One by one, they filed out, some bowed slightly, others just nodded.
When the doors closed and the silence returned, I sank back into the chair and stared at the empty room.
"Find the traitor," I muttered as I rubbed my face. "Yeah, sure. Easy."
The mission text glowed one last time before it faded from view.
And somewhere in the mansion, I could almost swear I heard someone whisper, "Long live the Don."
___
To be continued...