Raizel—or rather, Jay, but at this point, what even was identity anymore—remained in a daze as he stared out the window. The soft rain drizzled down outside, gray and endless, like a metaphor for his entire existence.
For a brief moment, he considered stepping outside. But then he hesitated.
Why?
Why was he acting like a different person? A month ago, he was just a guy who liked woman, beer, and living a comfortable, drama-free life. Now? He was sitting alone in an obnoxiously oversized mansion, avoiding social interaction like a cryptid.
Was he… changing?
Becoming someone else?
Nope. Nope. Not dealing with that right now. That was a problem for future him. Right now, he had a bigger problem.
Boredom.
He was sick of this mansion, sick of Frankenstein hovering around him, and sick of pretending to be the mysterious, all-powerful Noblesse. It had been an entire month, and he was officially losing his mind.
It was time for a change.
Maybe he'd sneak out for a bit, just for a little break before Frankenstein returned. But first…
Jay eyed the desk. A few scattered dollar bills lay there, abandoned and unsuspecting.
Such a poor master, he mused to himself as he casually borrowed some of Frankenstein's money.
Technically, was it stealing if Frankenstein worshipped the ground he walked on? Unlikely. It was more like a tax.
With cash in hand, Jay stepped outside, inhaling the cool, rain-scented air. He missed the simple pleasures of life—like a half-assed, questionably cheap beer. He knew it wouldn't taste the same, but damn it, he needed something familiar.
Then a thought hit him.
Wait.
Why was he taking money when he could literally just use his powers to get anything he wanted?
He could walk into a store, say "You will give me beer," and they would.
He considered it for a moment.
Then immediately rejected the idea.
Even Raizel might have standard, so does he. He refused to use mind control just to avoid spending money. That was a line he would not cross.
Instead, he did what any all-powerful being trapped in a fictional dream would do—he created a subtle aura around himself, ensuring the rain never touched him. It was small flex, but hey, he had to take his victories where he could.
He walked down a quiet road, surrounded by dense woods. He could've taken a normal path, like a normal person.
Instead, he floated into the air like a discount vampire Superman.
Ascending high above, he overlooked the dreary countryside of Forks. Yep. Still depressing.
Eventually, he landed in a small alley, making sure no one saw him. His speed was supernatural, too quick for human eyes to follow.
For the first time in a while, Jay felt content. Free.
And then—
A stray dog barked at him from the corner.
Jay barely spared it a glance.
The dog immediately regretted its life choices.
Its tail tucked between its legs as it whimpered, backing into the shadows like it had seen Monster.
Jay blinked.
"…I need a drink."
--------------------
As Raizel walked down the street, the attention he attracted was both expected and annoying. His flawlessly tailored black outfit and striking features made him look less like a casual passerby and more like someone who had either escaped from a high-fashion magazine or had come to personally judge everyone's life choices.
He could practically hear the thoughts of the people around him:
Who is that?
Is he famous?
Did I just fall in love?
Raizel sighed. Ignore it. Ignore it. You are just here for a beer.
That aside… he was in America.
The thought actually excited him. He had never been here before—not in his past life. The land of fast food, ridiculous lawsuits, and people who always seemed to have an opinion on everything.
Forks was a small, quiet town, vastly different from the grand cities he had imagined, but it had its own charm. The misty streets, the towering evergreens, the gloomy skies—it all felt oddly fitting.
I should probably see New York at some point… or Los Vegas… or try every burger place in the country, he mused.
But first—beer.
Soon, he arrived at Carver Café. A modest place, nothing fancy—but if it had beer, it was already a five-star establishment in his books.
As soon as he walked in, silence.
All eyes turned to him.
The foreign, absurdly handsome, walking enigma of a man who had just entered their humble establishment.
Raizel pretended not to notice as he approached the counter, where a lady was busy with customers.
"Excuse me." His voice was smooth, calm, elegant—completely betraying his inner exasperation. "I'll have an order of fresh fries and a beer, please."
The woman hesitated for half a second before nodding and hurrying to fulfill his order.
Even as he made his way to an empty table, Raizel could feel the eyes still on him.
Curious. Intrigued.
And then—
A familiar face.
He blinked.
"Kristen Stewart?"
He muttered it to himself, but apparently, his voice carried because the woman in question quickly looked away, pretending she had never seen him.
Raizel smiled faintly.
"Too bad there's no Kristen in this world then."
But he had no doubt who she was.
He didn't look back, but he could feel two specific sets of eyes lingering on him.
One—curiosity.
The other—disapproval.
Raizel already knew the source of the second gaze.
"Poor guy," he thought with mild amusement, sparing a moment of sympathy for Charlie Swan, the overworked, emotionally exhausted father of a stupid girl.
The realization that fictional characters were real in this world was… interesting.
He briefly entertained the idea of paying Cullen's a visit. Maybe introduce himself, see if he could cause some chaos.
Then he remembered he still had zero idea how this crossover world functioned, so maybe he should put a pin in that plan.
For now.
After finishing his food, Raizel finally rose from his seat, stepping outside—
Only to find Frankenstein.
Waiting.
In a car.
Of course.
Raizel stared.
Frankenstein stared back.
Raizel sighed.
Without a word, he opened the door and got in.
The silence stretched for a moment before he finally muttered, "Sorry for using your money without asking, Frankenstein."
His tone was… awkward.
Frankenstein turned his head, his expression unreadable—except for the faintest trace of concern.
"Master, there is no need for you to trouble yourself over such matters," he said earnestly.
Raizel remained expressionless, giving a small nod in acknowledgment.
Meanwhile, internally:
Well. That was dramatic.