[Ren’s POV]
The moment we stepped outside, the noise from The Lantern faded behind us. A few people near the entrance had stopped to watch, while others glanced over from the street. I noticed them, but I wasn’t particularly concerned. I hadn’t come here to make a scene. I wanted answers, and Joseph was finally standing in front of me.
He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. His eyes widened briefly before he glanced towards Clara and Maren, then back at me. Whatever he had been doing before I arrived, he certainly hadn’t been expecting this.
"Ren," he said.
"Joseph."
Neither of us moved for a moment. I had plenty of questions, and after spending so long wondering what this man was up to, I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
"Let’s start with the festival. How did you know about the attack before it happened?"
Joseph’s expression settled. "I heard something."
"From whom?"
"Someone who was concerned about Clara."
I frowned. "That’s convenient. You knew about the letters, the people behind them, and the attack itself. You knew enough to approach her in the middle of a crowded festival and warn her before anyone else realised there was a threat. How?"
"I already told you. I received information."
"What information? Names? Locations? A time? You don’t just stumble across details like that."
"Apparently, I did."
He wasn’t giving me much to work with. I studied his face, trying to decide whether he was hiding something or simply enjoying being difficult.
"And Clara?" I continued. "Why are you so interested in her?"
Joseph looked towards her. "That’s something you should ask Clara."
"I’m asking you."
"Then I suppose you’ll have to accept that I don’t have an answer you’re going to like."
I narrowed my eyes. "You inserted yourself into her life, gained her trust, and somehow managed to put yourself between us. What are you trying to accomplish?"
"Have you considered that Clara might have her own reasons for trusting me?"
"Don’t turn this around on me."
"I’m not. You’re the one asking why she’s made her choices as though I made them for her."
That irritated me, mostly because he had a point I didn’t want to acknowledge.
"Fine. House Vellmore, then. I heard you’ve been working for them. Why?"
"Because they were hiring."
"That’s it?"
"Would you prefer a more interesting answer?"
I exhaled through my nose. "Are you investigating them? The Thorn Collective? Is this connected to the Dale family?"
Joseph glanced at Clara and Maren again. His expression was difficult to read.
"I’ve been looking into a few things," he said. "That doesn’t mean you need to concern yourself with them."
"That’s not your decision."
"No, I suppose it isn’t."
I stepped closer. "You keep turning up in places you shouldn’t be, knowing things you shouldn’t know. You knew about Clara’s letters before she told anyone. You knew about the attack. You keep getting involved in situations that should have nothing to do with you, and somehow you always seem to be one step ahead."
Joseph remained quiet.
"Who are you?" I asked. "And how are you doing all this?"
He looked at me for a few seconds before giving a small shrug.
"Maybe I’m just an NPC."
I froze.
It was such an ordinary word to me that it took a second to register what had happened. Then I looked at him again.
"What did you just say?"
Joseph’s eyebrows lifted slightly. "I said maybe I’m just an NPC."
I stared at him.
NPC.
Non-player character.
A term from my world. A word I’d used countless times when talking about games, and one I’d used to describe Joseph from the moment I’d first seen him in that tavern. It wasn’t a word people in this world should know. It wasn’t even a concept they could reasonably arrive at on their own.
And Joseph had just used it.
"Where did you hear that word?" I asked.
His expression changed. Only slightly, but I caught it.
"What word?"
"NPC."
He looked at me, then gave a faint smile. "You know what it means, don’t you?"
My stomach tightened.
That wasn’t an answer. It was another question, and one he had no reason to ask unless he already knew something.
"Where did you hear it?" I repeated.
"Does it matter?"
"Yes. It matters."
For the first time, I wasn’t thinking about Clara or House Vellmore. I wasn’t even thinking about the festival. I was looking at Joseph and wondering whether the problem was much bigger than I’d thought.
He knew the word.
He knew the way I thought about this world.
And if he knew that, what else did he know?
Joseph watched my expression carefully. His earlier surprise had given way to something else. He seemed to have noticed that he’d struck a nerve, and the faint smile on his face returned.
"Interesting," he said.
"What’s interesting?"
"You."
I grabbed the front of his coat.
"Stop playing games. How do you know that word?"
He looked down at my hand before meeting my eyes again. "You really don’t like being asked questions, do you?"
"Answer me."
"Or what?"
I released him with a shove. He stumbled half a step, then straightened his coat.
"You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who doesn’t know what he’s dealing with," I said.
"That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."
I took a breath, trying to rein in my temper. I still wanted answers. I needed to know whether Joseph was another person from my world, whether he had some connection to the System, or whether there was something else going on that I hadn’t considered.
But he wasn’t going to tell me anything.
He looked at me as though he could see the questions piling up behind my eyes.
"You’re the Chosen Hero, aren’t you?" he said. "The main character. The one everything is supposed to revolve around."
I frowned.
He lowered his voice, keeping it between us. "You’ve got your perfect stats, your ridiculous luck, and a System that practically holds your hand. You know how these stories work. You know who’s supposed to matter and who’s just background scenery."
My grip tightened.
"And yet," he continued, "some random NPC keeps getting in your way."
There it was again.
The word sounded different coming from him now. It wasn’t simply an insult. He was using it the way I did, as though we shared an understanding that nobody else here could possibly have.
"You think you’re clever?" I asked.
"Not particularly. But I’ve managed to make things difficult for you."
"You’ve been lucky."
"Maybe. I couldn’t see the festival attack coming either, could I? Oh, wait."
I stepped forward.
Joseph didn’t retreat.
"You couldn’t see it coming," he said. "I could. You were the Chosen Hero, standing right there with your System and all those advantages, and I was the nobody who noticed Clara was in danger. I got to her first. I warned her. I helped save her. And afterwards, she chose to trust me."
"Shut up."
"That bothers you, doesn’t it? Not because I beat you in a fight. I couldn’t do that. You know it, and I know it. But I managed to take something you thought was already yours, and you still haven’t figured out how."
I hit him.
My fist caught his jaw and sent him stumbling backwards. Before he could recover, I grabbed his coat and struck him again. He hit the wall beside the entrance, and I followed with another punch.
Joseph tried to raise his arms, but his defence was slow. I caught him in the stomach, then struck his face when he doubled over. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground.
"Still think this is funny?" I asked.
He spat blood onto the cobblestones. "Not particularly."
I kicked him in the ribs.
He rolled onto his side, coughing. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back up before driving another punch into his face. His body went limp for a moment, but I wasn’t finished. I threw him against the wall again, and the impact knocked the breath out of him.
He was weak. Whatever knowledge he possessed, whatever tricks had allowed him to interfere with my plans, none of it mattered when I was standing right in front of him.
I struck him again. He fell, and I followed him down, landing a punch across his cheek. His arms came up to protect his face, but I pushed them aside and hit him again.
Someone shouted behind me.
"That’s enough!"
I ignored them.
Joseph tried to turn away, but I caught him by the shoulder and pulled him back. His face was already swelling, blood running from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He could barely keep his eyes open.
"Why Clara?" I demanded. "What do you want from her?"
He coughed, struggling to draw breath. "Ask... her."
I hit him again.
"Stop dodging my questions!"
"What questions?" he rasped. "You haven’t listened to a single answer."
I seized his coat and dragged him upright. "You think you can interfere with my life and walk away?"
Joseph’s eyes met mine. There was blood on his teeth when he smiled.
"Your life?"
I drove my fist into his stomach. He folded over, and I threw him back onto the ground.
"You’re nothing," I said. "You got lucky. That’s all this is."
"Then why..." He struggled to breathe. "Why are you so angry?"
I raised my fist.
"Because you’re an arrogant bastard who thinks he can do whatever he wants."
"Sounds familiar."
I struck him.
The people around us were no longer pretending not to watch. Several had gathered near the entrance, while others stood farther back, uncertain whether they should intervene. I heard someone calling for the guards, but the voice seemed distant.
Joseph was no longer fighting back. He could barely move. His attempts to shield his face had become weak, uncoordinated gestures, and each time I struck him, his body jerked against the stones.
"Ren!"
I heard Clara’s voice, but I didn’t look up.
Joseph was still breathing. That was enough to keep me going.
"Ren, stop!"
A hand caught my arm.
I turned sharply, expecting someone foolish enough to get between us. Instead, I found Clara standing beside me. Her face was pale, and her eyes moved from my expression to the man on the ground.
"Get out of the way," I said.
"No."
"Clara, move."
She tightened her grip on my arm. "He’s had enough."
"He knows something. I’m not finished with him."
"Look at him!"
I glanced down.
Joseph was barely conscious. His chest rose in shallow, uneven movements, and one of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut. His coat was torn, his face covered in blood, and he wasn’t even trying to get up anymore.
I looked back at Clara.
"He brought this on himself."
"That doesn’t mean you get to kill him."
Maren appeared behind her sister. She looked from Joseph to me, her expression hardening as she took in the scene. A few people had moved closer, but none seemed willing to approach.
I pulled against Clara’s grip. She refused to let go.
"Move, Clara."
"No. If you want to reach him, you’ll have to go through me."
I stared at her. The anger was still there, burning beneath my skin, but something else had begun to settle over the scene. The people watching. The blood on my hands. Clara standing between me and the man I’d just beaten half to death.
And Joseph, lying at my feet.
For the first time since the fight began, I hesitated.