Chapter Twenty Three : Coincidence?!!

The Gilkesh Grand Hotel was lit like a starship poised for liftoff. Neon ribbons of light glided across the sky-high glass domes, reflecting the shimmering night. Floating banners announced the exclusive event to its elite guests:

"Masquerade Banquet – For the Most Honored Residents Only."

Linxia stared at the notification on his holoband with a blank expression.

"…I don't even like crowds," he muttered.

[Banquet attendance highly recommended.]

"Of course it is," he sighed. "Let me guess—prestige maintenance?"

Miss D materialized beside him in a flash of gentle light, dressed elegantly in a midnight gown, her silver hair coiled in intricate braids, and a black lace mask covering her eyes.

"You catch on quickly," she said with a smile. "As a guest on the 47th floor, not attending would seem… suspicious. You wouldn't want to arouse the curiosity of the truly powerful, would you?"

Linxia pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. But I'm not spending real money on some glittery robe."

[New Event: Masquerade Banquet Appearance Protocol Triggered.]

[A one-time exclusive attire package is available for 50 points.]

"…You had this prepped, didn't you?"

Miss D said nothing. Just smiled.

Grumbling, Linxia accepted. In a soft shimmer of light, the system-sent outfit enveloped him—layered fabrics in dark obsidian silk with faint traces of blue constellations woven into the sleeves. The collar rose just enough to frame his neck, and the silver belt cinched his waist with quiet authority.

And then came the mask.

It was unlike anything he expected—sleek, matte black, with glowing runes traced so faintly they seemed to vanish if you stared too long. It curved perfectly to his face, covering the upper half like a crown of shadows and stars.

[Masquerade Mask Equipped – Passive Bonuses Unlocked:]

Charm +30

Mystery Allure (Passive – Tier 2): Slightly increases attention, admiration, and intrigue.

Incomprehensible Aura (Hidden – Tier S): Presence perceived as unfathomable by entities above System Level 8. Provokes caution, awe, and subtle reverence.

"…What the hell is an incomprehensible aura?" Linxia asked, frowning.

Miss D's smile didn't waver. "A bonus… only the truly powerful will understand."

"That's not comforting," he muttered.

---

The banquet was held on the floating Skyglass Platform above the hotel—hovering high enough that the city's skyline bowed beneath it. Drones flitted about serving drinks. Live alien orchestras played instruments that shimmered and sang, and guests in elaborate masks and costumes drifted like constellations on a dance floor made of starlight.

As Linxia stepped in, a hush rippled through the closest circles.

Eyes turned.

Even those who wouldn't normally spare a second glance paused. He could feel it—the passive effects of the outfit at work. People didn't know who he was, but somehow, they knew they should. They watched him like he was a secret wrapped in power.

"Who is that?" someone whispered.

"I've never seen him before."

"Don't be ridiculous. With that kind of aura? He must be from the Core Systems."

Linxia tugged uncomfortably at his collar. "I feel like I'm cosplaying an overpowered NPC."

"Relax," Miss D said smoothly beside him. "You fit in just fine. Perhaps… too fine."

"Great," he grunted. "All this attention and I didn't even get dinner yet."

A noblewoman passed by, casting him a coy glance over her fan.

Another guest—the kind of elder who radiated quiet pressure—gave Linxia a single respectful nod, and turned away with furrowed brows, as if reevaluating everything.

"People are scared of me," he muttered.

Miss D's eyes sparkled behind her mask. "That's the incomprehensible aura. It triggers an ancient survival instinct. The strong… recognize something they can't define."

"…You gave me an eldritch aura at a cocktail party?"

Miss D only laughed softly.

Somewhere in the crowd, Linxia caught a glimpse of two familiar figures—the cold, distant woman from earlier and her bubbly friend. Both were watching him. This time, even the cold one's eyes lingered a second too long.

He turned back toward the dance floor. "This is getting way out of hand."

"You're doing great," Miss D said. "Now smile. Or at least fake one. You're supposed to be mysterious, not constipated."

He exhaled. "Fine. But after this, I'm going back to writing."

"Of course," she said sweetly. "We still have those ten chapters to upload before the deadline."

Linxia groaned.

And somewhere behind his mask, a little grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

---

Linxia stood at the edge of the glittering banquet hall, dressed in an outfit far more extravagant than he would've chosen himself. Forced to exchange 50 precious points for the ensemble, he grumbled internally, but even he had to admit—it was worth it.

The mask was the highlight: intricate, black and silver, with faint runes carved along the inner rim. It pulsed faintly against his skin, as if alive. Its effect? An increased mystery and charm aura, and another passive buff he didn't fully understand—"Incomprehensible Aura."

Apparently, only the truly powerful could sense it… but those who did would find him unfathomable, surrounded by a subtle pressure that whispered danger, depth, and secrets best left undisturbed. He couldn't feel it himself, but judging by the way high-level figures glanced his way—and then quickly looked away—he was starting to believe it worked.

"Keep up appearances," Miss D had said. "The banquet's mandatory for staff. That includes you."

So here he was.

And to be fair, it wasn't so bad.

Masked nobles laughed and danced. A live band played celestial jazz under a floating chandelier that shimmered with artificial stardust. The marble floor reflected the guests like water. Every breath tasted like wealth and ambition.

But Linxia didn't move.

He stood like a shadow, swirling his drink, watching.

Observation Mode: Activated.

He wasn't part of their world, but he could watch it—and that was enough. Years of street-level people-watching in his past life had trained him for this. From sighs to glances to fidgeting fingers, he noticed the things others didn't.

> "That man in the red cloak? Not drinking his wine. Keeps his back to the wall. Security pretending to be nobility. Probably armed."

> "That noblewoman laughing too hard at the quiet guy's joke? She's not into him. Her foot's angled toward another man. Love triangle?"

> "That masked couple dancing near the center—they're too perfect. Timing, spacing, expressions. Trained. Spies. Or assassins."

He hummed, amused. This wasn't just a banquet—it was inspiration.

He glanced toward the domed ceiling. Fallen Hero of Atvia was due for a court drama arc. He could mine a year's worth of storylines from this one night alone.

His imagination lit up like wildfire.

> "What if the lady with the golden fan was actually an assassin, smuggling a neuro-dagger to eliminate a high-ranking duke… and her dance partner was her brother, undercover as her lover, both hired by the emperor's estranged wife to—"

He laughed under his breath.

That's when a voice sliced in—cool, female, curious.

"What's so amusing?"

He turned slightly, already assuming Miss D had come to tease him again.

"Oh, just a story idea. That woman with the fan? I imagined she's actually an assassin. Crazy, right?"

Then he paused.

It wasn't Miss D.

The woman beside him wore an ice-blue gown that shimmered like moonlight over snow. Her mask was subtle but elegant, the kind that whispered class and command. But it was her eyes—storm-grey and still—that made Linxia's words dry up.

It was the cold woman from the hotel.

"…Oh," he said, blinking. "Not who I thought you were."

She didn't smile. She didn't even react—just stared at him, unblinking, as if dissecting his words syllable by syllable.

"You mentioned assassins," she said at last.

He laughed awkwardly. "Ah, yeah. It's nothing. I'm a writer. I make up stories all the time, usually based on what I observe. Total fiction."

She tilted her head, almost imperceptibly.

"And if it wasn't fiction?"

"It is," he said quickly. "One hundred percent. Trust me. Just coincidence if anything I say ever comes true."

A pause. A long one.

Then, she nodded slowly and drifted back into the crowd, her presence as icy and weightless as falling snow.

Linxia exhaled sharply.

"What was that about?"

He barely had time to ponder it when—

BOOM.

A thunderous explosion cracked through the ballroom. A panel of the sidewall shattered inward. Three figures in cloaked armor surged in on hoverblades, their weapons gleaming beneath the chandelier light.

Assassins.

Screams erupted. Chaos bloomed.

Security systems activated instantly, shields shimmering to life as guards snapped into formation. The guests panicked—except a select few who remained unnaturally calm.

And Linxia?

He stood there, eyes wide, the flute slipping slightly in his hand.

"…No. You've got to be kidding me."

The exact thing he had joked about—the assassin with the fan—was happening. One of the dancers had drawn twin daggers. Someone else was already down. The woman with the golden fan?

Gone.

He turned slowly—drawn by an instinct he couldn't name.

There she was. The cold woman.

Unmoving. Poised. Watching him.

Their eyes locked again.

And this time… there was no mistaking it.

She didn't think it was a coincidence.

She thought he knew.

And what was worse—Linxia wasn't entirely sure how to explain that it was a coincidence without sounding like a liar.

As her hand slid to her waist—where a concealed blade waited beneath the folds of her gown—she stepped silently into the fray.

Elegant. Deadly.

And absolutely convinced that Linxia wasn't just some "writer."

"…I think," he whispered, "I just became a character in someone else's story."

---