Instead of the blazing heat Deon was expecting, his body felt more like it had been dragged through a sheet of freezing water.

The world stretched around him, twisting into long streaks of dark wood and orange light before snapping back into its original spot all at once.

Deon stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself on the nearby desk before his knees hit the floor.

For a second, he just stood there looking at where he was. The Master Office was still in front of him, filled with the same bookshelves, guest chairs, and paintings.

But at the same time, it wasn’t.

The shelves weren’t covered in dust anymore, the desk looked freshly polished, and the red chairs looked newer, the fabric no longer worn or faded from age.

"...What the hell?"

He turned around immediately, expecting to see Hana, Jin, Mina, Nami, or Vivian behind him. But no one was there. Actually, he was the only person in the room.

Though there was one thing Deon noticed that was strange. Everything seemed to be...desaturated, like someone had run the colors through an old TV.

Deon looked down at himself. His black jacket was still black and his hands still had their normal color. Even the traces of the Brute Crawler’s faded red blood still hung on his fingertips.

But as he looked down, a faint blue glow leaked through his pocket, catching his attention. Deon frowned, reaching in and pulling out the Card he suspected did all of this.

[Playback]

The letters on its surface were glowing, pulsing with a soft blue light. Unlike his other Cards, the glow flickered slightly. Just as Deon went to touch it, a blue panel appeared right in front of it.

[Playback: Active — Full Scene Recreation]

Damn it, did I get scammed by my Viewer? What kind of Card activates without my own input?

Deon glanced over to the side, expecting the chat panel filled with probably hilarious comments, congratulating him on being scammed...but nothing was there.

For a while, he experimented. Deon realized he could use some of the features in the [Shop], but things like the [Leaderboard], [Stream], and [Party] were completely inaccessible.

He also noticed that he was able to physically interact with objects, picking up a silver letter opener lying near the ink bottle. But if he tried to move it away from a certain range—

POOF!

It disappeared from his hands and went right back to its original spot, without fail.

"Right," Deon muttered, putting both hands on his waist. "So I can touch things, but I can’t steal props."

It made sense, as annoying as it was. Deon had figured that he was inside the preserved memory, according to [Playback], anyway.

But before he could linger on the thought for any longer, the door to the Master Office opened, and a man stepped inside. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

The first thing Deon noticed was that he was dressed weirdly. It wouldn’t be strange to label it as a costume or a cosplay.

The man wore a dark-blue coat with silver embroidery along the collar, layered with a fitted vest with decorative buttons.

His hair was styled neatly as well, swept to the side with some strands falling over his pale face and glasses. At first, Deon thought he looked relatively young, maybe around his 30s or 40s, but the dark circles under his eye kind of ruined the image.

This has got to be Marcel, patriarch of the place.

Deon prepared [Blade] in his hand, expecting for a confrontation to happen. But he simply crossed the office without even a single glimpse at Deon’s way.

"Right, it’s just a memory," Deon said softly, putting [Blade] back into his pocket. "What was I getting so worked up for?"

He watched as the man reached the desk, placed one hand against the polished surface, and lowered his head before exhaling slowly.

"...Damn it."

Hmm, is he actually from our world? Maybe it’s the old money aesthetic...I wouldn’t know anyway.

Deon moved closer to the desk, standing just on the side as Marcel pulled out the same cabinet. His fingers reached toward the letters already there—the fourth and fifth letter, alongside another folded sheet.

But his eyes suddenly widened the moment he saw the insignia on top of the paper.

It’s...it’s Miracle Royale’s insignia, the same one on my invitation letter! Was this man a contestant, too?!

No...there’s no way. If the earlier letters were anything to go by, Marcel wasn’t talking to the Miracle Royale as a contestant...more like a client.

The man had dipped his quill into the ink before starting to write on a blank sheet of paper.

"There it is," Deon muttered, already leaning closer to read what he was writing. "Let’s see what you’re hiding..."

Yet, once again, before even a single word had been written, the door to the Master Office opened. Both of their heads snapped toward it, only to see a young boy stepping inside.

He looked around eight years old, maybe slightly younger, but the way he carried himself made that hard to tell at first. He wasn’t fidgeting or overly excited like most children tend to be.

The kid walked in quietly, one hand holding the arm of a small stuffed teddy bear that dragged against his side.

His hair was a dark blue, deep enough that it almost looked normal under the desaturated colors of the memory, but still strange enough for Deon to notice immediately.

"Father."

Marcel’s hand froze above the page, and for a second, Deon seemed to catch a small glimpse of what he could only call...tenderness, before it faded back.

"Elliot," the patriarch said. "What brings you to my office?"

The boy walked a little further into the room. Up close, Deon could see the toy was old. Not falling apart, exactly, but worn in a way something became when a child refused to replace it.

Elliot’s eyes moved to the papers on the desk, but the patriarch noticed and turned one of the letters over. Though the boy didn’t seem to really care, stepping back and asking a simple question.

"Will you be attending my birthday this year?"