“To cross the line takes but a moment, and to become a villain takes only a day.” — An ancient proverb from the Deep Tower

•  

"This world... is not real."

The 'client' who had come to inspect the cleanup site started the conversation with that declaration.

"It feels like I'm inside the game I was playing, but maybe not. It's a franchise universe, like one of those things that has a hand in everything—comics, movies, novels, games... just all over the place."

No matter what he was rambling about, the cleaners did not stop working. Today, they had more than enough to clean up.

Two red elves, four smugglers, and probably some back-alley thugs who had been guarding the smugglers.

The cleaners bagged the bodies before they could rot, and sprayed chemicals on the blood-stained floor.

The client, not expecting a response, continued talking as he sat in front of the cleaners' truck.

"Honestly, I hadn't given it much thought, but suddenly it occurred to me—what if I'm not the only one from my world who's fallen into this one?"

"Maybe someone like a side-story writer or a director of a commercial franchise could've ended up here too."

"Though, of course, they wouldn’t have come as game characters like me. I wonder how they got here? Possession? Reincarnation?"

His words, spoken half as a joke, lacked any logical coherence.

The sound of his voice, interrupted by occasional chuckles, was unsettling, like the nonsensical muttering you’d hear echoing down a hallway in a psychiatric ward.

There was something unnervingly eerie about it...

Some of the cleaners had started to visibly eye the client with caution.

But none of them took action.

No one here wanted to fight a killer who had slaughtered more than forty people, including the elves.

Instead, they just moved their hands and feet faster, trying to finish cleaning up as quickly as possible.

"Seems like I’m the only one talking here."

Sensing the mood, the client finally stopped his babbling.

But the silence didn’t last long.

Just as the cleaners tossed the last body bag into the truck, the client suddenly raised his hand and pointed at one of them.

"Hey, you over there."

The cleaner he pointed to had been mopping the floor with a waste vacuum.

Just like the other cleaners, the person turned their head toward the client, their face hidden beneath a thick work uniform and gas mask.

"Yeah, you. I have a question for you."

"...A question?"

A young man's voice came from beneath the gas mask of the cleaner holding the waste vacuum.

"Nothing big. If I came to this world through reincarnation, they’d call me a reincarnator, and if I came by possession, I’d be a possessor, right? So, what do you think they should call someone like me, who came as a game character?"

The cleaner glanced at his colleagues, then responded to the client.

"The protagonist... perhaps?"

"The protagonist? Why do you think that?"

"Well, you said you entered this world from a game, right? Wouldn't someone who's been through something extraordinary like that deserve to be called the protagonist?"

The client smirked at the cleaner’s response. It was more a sneer than a smile.

"I can see why you'd think that. But you're wrong. This world already has a protagonist."

"...Is that so?"

"Yeah, I told you. It's a franchise world. How could a game character be the protagonist? So, think of another term. What comes to mind when you think of games?"

Despite the seemingly irrelevant question, the cleaner holding the vacuum pondered it seriously.

Or at least pretended to.

Until one of his sharp-witted coworkers signaled that the cleanup was done, he kept up the act.

Finally, just as the last bag was loaded into the truck, the cleaner spoke.

"...Player. How about that?"

"Player? Oh, I like that. Player, huh…"

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, the client rolled the word around on his tongue, smiling.

Then, after a moment, he stood up and said,

"Now that I've got a decent nickname, you’ll be the last."

"...The last? What do you mean?"

Without responding, the client reached out into the air, as if grasping something invisible.

Then, as if it had always been there, a long iron sword appeared in his hand.

"Wait...!"

One of the quicker cleaners reached for his gun the moment he saw the sword. But the client was faster, rushing toward them.

"Damn it! Run!"

"Hit the alarm! Get the alarm!"

"Aaagh!"

Screams filled the air, followed by the splatter of blood.

James, the first to draw his gun, collapsed before he could even scream.

Duckbae, who had been about to press the emergency alarm, was sliced through the chest and split in two. Next to him, Chunsik fell, leaving behind nothing but a scream.

Those three deaths were just the beginning. The cleaners were slaughtered mercilessly. Swiftly and brutally, as though cleaning up garbage.

"Why... isn't the alarm…?"

The last to fall was the team leader. With his dying breath, he kept pressing the unresponsive alarm button.

Even though the signal had clearly been sent, there was no sound from the alarm.

"Of course it won’t go off. Your lives were sold off ages ago."

The client chuckled, stomping on the foreman’s corpse until the floor they’d worked so hard to clean was once again drenched in blood.

When the foreman's torso was little more than a shredded mess, the client finally stopped and turned his gaze.

The cleaner who had given him the name was standing there, trembling, staring at him.

"W-why…?"

"Ah, don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not like I had any personal grudge against you."

"..."

"I just needed a little more experience to level up."

The player laughed, wiping the blood from his cheek.

"...Experience?"

"Yeah, since I’m starting the prologue, being level 10 is better than level 9, don’t you think? New traits unlock, you learn new skills... and the academy route is easier if you make a big impact early on."

Nonchalantly babbling nonsense, the client flicked his sword, sending droplets of blood scattering across the floor.

"Like I promised, you’re the last. I’ve got just enough experience now."

Though the player approached him, the last cleaner did not try to run. He simply stood there, silently glaring at the client… no, at the player.

Was it courage? Or had he given up, knowing there was no escape? To the player, it didn’t matter either way.

"Hey, what’s your name?"

The player pressed the sword to the cleaner’s throat and asked.

"...Dung beetle."

"Hah! Dung beetle, huh? Since you clean up filth? Great name!"

The player slightly increased the pressure on the blade. The sword bit into the cleaner’s neck, and blood trickled down.

"Dung beetle, got any last words? I’ll hear them out for my level 10 celebration."

"...How much was it?"

"What was?"

"Our lives."

"Oh, your lives? Surprisingly cheap. They paid 250,000 won per head. The rest’s coming out of your wages, I guess."

The cleaner clenched his fists and trembled, biting his lip to hold back a scream.

"...Shit."

He tried his best to accept the reality. It wasn’t anyone else, but the higher-ups who had sold them out. Just to save on labor costs.

...So this is really happening?

But no matter how much he asked, reality was indifferent. The cleaners he’d worked with, who had lived and laughed beside him, were now just blood and grime scattered across the floor. Soon, he would join them.

"Don’t take it too personally. Isn’t that just how mobs work?"

"Mobs? You’re calling them mobs? The people you killed... you see them as mobs?"

The cleaner spat out the words bitterly, and the player, grinning, replied.

"If killing them gives me experience and items, then they’re mobs, right? So, are they really people?"

"You insane bastard…"

But the cleaner’s last words never came.

The sword sliced through his neck, and instead of a final breath, only blood poured from the wound.

Moments later, a head wearing a gas mask and a headless body collapsed to the floor.

"Level up."

The player didn’t even glance at the corpse he had made.

After seemingly tapping something invisible in the air, he muttered something about strength, agility, and left the scene.

And so, the night’s massacre ended. There were no witnesses. No survivors. A quiet ending.

...But the story didn’t end there.

In the place the player had left, the headless body rose again.

For a while, it wandered in circles, directionless. Its cold hands groped the floor, searching desperately for something.

-Squelch.

After some time, the body found what it was looking for in a pool of blood: its severed head.

Carefully, it lifted the head and placed it back where it belonged.

Sssss—

As soon as the head was in place, black smoke rose from the wound, and the flesh and blood began to fuse back together.

Though miraculous, the body was still a corpse. Its heart had stopped, and it took no breath.

But that wouldn’t last long.

The dead cleaner would rise again. Stronger than ever, and even more... thrilled.

“Oh, my keeper.”

It laughed soundlessly as the player left the death sprinkles behind.