Later that night, after making a few tentative plans to gain more believers, Ivaim found himself restless. Sleep was nowhere near his mind—he felt an anxious tension growing inside him, gnawing at his thoughts.
His condition was still unstable, and although the self-destruction had been delayed, it was nothing more than a temporary respite, merely extending the inevitable. Every passing moment made it clearer: he needed more followers, more believers, as soon as possible.
With that thought weighing heavily on him, Ivaim walked toward the familiar wooden door positioned in one corner of his Fractured Reality. It was the same door he'd used before, a portal to the world outside.
[Would you like to leave this Fractured Reality?]
The familiar system prompt appeared, and without hesitation, Ivaim selected "Yes." In an instant, the colors around him blurred and warped, and the environment shifted.
When the world around him solidified, Ivaim found himself in a dimly lit, aged room. It looked like a small, worn-out apartment—clothes were hanging on lines, some uniforms, some underwear, and even a few blankets, all being dried by a standing electric fan.
The floor was cluttered with stacked boxes, some precariously perched atop others. In the center of the room lay a small bed, on which a burly, muscular man was sprawled, snoring loudly.
Ivaim blinked, momentarily confused. This wasn't where he had expected to appear.
'Why did it bring me here?'
He squinted, trying to get a better look at the sleeping man. As his gaze sharpened, a sense of recognition tugged at him.
'Isn't that Kalisto? Did I spawn here because he's my believer?'
His mind raced with thoughts, and it didn't take long for him to come to a conclusion.
'No, it must be because he possesses the threshold item I gave him... That's why the system placed me here.'
The pieces fell into place. Ivaim recalled his first time leaving his Fractured Reality—how he had appeared near the dead body of the teenager who had once held the coin. This time, Kalisto's possession of the special coin must have triggered the system's choice of his location.
Ivaim took a moment to process, then carefully and quietly exited the apartment, making sure not to disturb the sleeping Kalisto. He stepped out onto the streets, his thoughts now focused on his next move.
Ivaim had already planned what he would do next.
It was clear to him that this world, as strange and fractured as it was, revolved around Reality Masters constantly positioning themselves like revered gods, all in an effort to gain more believers. He needed to stand out from the crowd, to carve his own path.
But unlike the others, Ivaim didn't want followers who worshipped blindly. While such believers might be loyal, they were also dangerous—capable of justifying the most heinous acts as his "will." That kind of devotion wasn't the kind of power he sought.
Even worse were the believers driven by greed, the ones who sought power for their own gain. If most of his followers were motivated by a desire for power, betrayal would be inevitable.
Kalisto had been Ivaim's first exception, but even then, Kalisto's motives had been driven more by desperation than blind devotion. He had sought to escape poverty, and Ivaim had provided him with an ability to help him do so. But even then, Ivaim had been careful.
The ability he had given Kalisto was a modified version of the [Coin of Fortune], ensuring that Kalisto would not abuse it. In order for the luck to accumulate, Kalisto had to perform good deeds.
'The best type of believers are those who act on firm morals they've developed themselves...'
Ivaim didn't want to be like the other Reality Masters who acted in an almost religious way, demanding worship without question. No, Ivaim wanted something different—something more.
He wanted to be like the devil who tempted people with choices, offering them opportunities to decide their own fates, in exchange for something of equal value.
He wanted equal trades, equal exchanges, where both parties walked away satisfied.
Of course, failure was inevitable. Some would ask for something and, in the end, not truly believe in him. But that, too, was part of the game.
'Either way, I'll gain something,' he thought with a wry smile.
Ivaim continued to stroll through the streets, his mind working through various strategies. After some time, he finally reached his intended destination: a dilapidated district filled with the poor, their homes little more than broken buildings and crumbling structures.
It had taken him 20 minutes of wandering, but luck still hadn't been on his side. He hadn't found anyone suitable for his purposes.
As he was about to enact his backup plan, he immediately had another idea as he tapped his own thumb
[Coin of Fortune]
A golden coin then popped up inside his palm. Flicking it in the air, Ivaim then hid it inside the uniform pockets he had.
Just then, after a few minutes of walking, a soft, sobbing sound caught his attention. Ivaim turned toward the noise, curiosity piqued. Behind a pile of garbage bags, he saw a small figure hunched over, shaking with quiet sobs.
The boy couldn't have been older than twelve, dressed in ragged, dirty clothes, his face marked with bruises—black and purple splotches that were stark against his pale skin.
Ivaim paused, watching the boy for a moment. The child's pitiful sobs seemed genuine, and after a moment's consideration, Ivaim approached cautiously. He made sure to check for any signs that this might be some sort of elaborate trap. Satisfied it was not, he drew his hood up and covered the uniform he wore with a simple robe.
He walked closer, stopping just a few feet away from the boy, who was now hugging his knees in an attempt to stifle his cries.
"The night is supposed to be peaceful," Ivaim said, his voice smooth, almost soothing. "Yet you seem oddly troubled, boy."
...
A calm voice echoed in front of the boy as he looked up, startled.
The boy, already on edge, flinched at the unexpected conversation. He quickly scrambled to his feet, his heart racing, and attempted to run. But luck was not on his side. He tripped, his tattered shirt caught on a protruding, unhammered nail in the wall, the fabric tearing further.
How unlucky...
"W-who are you?" The boy stammered, struggling to free himself, pulling at the fabric stuck on the nail.
"Haha, no need to be so frightened. I won't come any closer—don't worry, I'll stay exactly two meters away," the hooded figure replied, stopping at the prescribed distance.
"Seeing you cry makes me feel sorry for you, you know? A kid like you should be at school—learning math, drawing dinosaurs on paper." The figure's voice held a teasing tone.
"What?" The boy blinked, confused by the stranger's strange words. His fear only deepened, and he clutched at the torn fabric of his shirt with trembling hands.
"Hehe, sorry. Sometimes my empathy gets the better of me and I talk too much." The hooded figure chuckled softly.
The boy's brow furrowed as the stranger's demeanor shifted. "Say, kid... If I told you I could grant you a wish you've always wanted, what kind of wish would it be?"
The sudden change in topic left the boy speechless, unsure of how to react. He stood there silently, biting his lip, as fresh tears streamed down his face.
"Can you bring my mom back?" The boy's voice cracked as he spoke, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "If... If you bring my mom back, I promise I'll pay you a lot when I'm bigger and have a job!"
His voice trembled with desperation, and the tears fell faster, pooling at his feet.
"I just want to see her again..." The boy's voice broke, filled with the weight of his loss.
At the boy's plea, the hooded figure was silent for a moment, processing the raw emotion. Then, an awkward laugh escaped his lips.
"I'm just kidding, kid. I'm not a god. I can't bring the dead back to life." The figure's tone was light, almost dismissive, though it didn't ease the boy's sorrow.
The boy's brow furrowed, a mix of disappointment and acceptance in his gaze. He wiped the tears away, his voice small but steady.
"I know, mister..."
He paused, gathering himself. Then, with a quiet but fierce resolve, he spoke again. "That's why my real wish... my real wish is for the murderer of my mom to be punished. He has to pay for what he did."
The sadness in the boy's eyes shifted, transforming into something darker—anger, resentment. The weight of his pain was replaced with the burning desire for vengeance.
Ivaim, listening to the words of a ten-year-old, found himself at a loss for how to respond. He took a moment, unsure of what to say, before shrugging nonchalantly.
He pulled a coin from one of his pockets and held it out toward the boy, his voice turning colder, more measured.
"Then, in that case... are you willing to pay the price of such a wish?"
The boy couldn't see the figure's face behind the hood, but he could sense the smile—like the devil himself tempting him into a deal. A shiver ran down his spine.
The boy's eyes seemed to empty for a moment as he hesitated. Doubt flickered across his face, but soon, determination took over.
"Yes... I would..." His voice was firm now, the fire of his desire for revenge burning bright in his chest.
Ivaim nodded, understanding the boy's decision.
"Then, consider your wish granted."
A flick of the wrist, and the coin flew through the air, landing in the boy's hand. He caught it by instinct, staring at it with wide eyes.
The coin was silver, its surface glowing with an odd, almost ethereal light.
The boy was about to ask what the coin meant, what it was for, but before he could speak, the hooded figure was already turning to leave. Without another word, he disappeared into the dark slums, vanishing into the night.
The boy, still clutching the coin, stood there in stunned silence.