“Who exactly… are you?”
When I asked, my tone wasn’t actually forceful— rather than interrogating, it was more like forcing myself to confirm a reality: this person was clearly standing in the middle of the corridor, yet he gave me the illusion that “he already knew I would come out from this door.”
He looked very easygoing.
—At least, his appearance gave that first impression.
His features were clean and sharp, even carrying a bit of delicate charm; his deep chestnut short hair was trimmed without a single strand out of place, and his eyes were a lighter coffee color in the same shade.
If I only looked at this face, it would be hard for me to associate him with the word “dangerous.”
However, when my gaze shifted downward, landing on his clothing—
!!
Heavy long boots, white gloves, a coat that wrapped his body tightly…
I had seen this outfit.
Just not long ago, before I entered the BHAO club, at the entrance where neon lights and shadows intertwined, that weirdo wrapped up like a traveler in cold lands— wasn’t it him?
“Sorry, I might have scared you.”
He obviously noticed my wariness, but his tone was excessively steady, as if he were just a misunderstood passerby.
As he spoke, he neatly took off that heavy coat, removing the gloves along with it; only those boots, tied too tightly, couldn’t be removed in a short time.
After shedding that outer layer, his entire outline finally looked “more human.” Inside was a set of sporty clothes, simple, clean, even decent; compared to the overly concealing attire from before, now he seemed more like an ordinary young man who might appear on the streets in reality.
“I’ll introduce myself first.”
He extended his right hand, his movements steady, without deliberate enthusiasm to ingratiate, yet carrying a sense of etiquette that couldn’t be refused, as if declaring some established rule.
“DEATH LORD. Real name— Ameno Yotsuba. Nice to meet you.”
“…Eh?”
I froze for a moment, even my breathing skipped a beat.
Not because he revealed his game identity, but because he actually threw out his real name on the first meeting— this behavior, among BHAO players, was almost equivalent to “personally dismantling one’s protective talisman.”
Hiding one’s real identity in BHAO was basic common sense for veteran players.
In the game, you could act based on likes and dislikes, plunder, retaliate, or even package yourself as “justice.”
But once your real identity was exposed, the cause and effect from the game would crawl back to reality along the network cable.
Ever since BHAO gradually dominated society, real-life retaliation incidents weren’t uncommon; even though The Earth Ring company and the police invested a lot of resources to suppress such things, they still happened.
So, having both real and game identities grasped by someone was almost equivalent to voluntarily offering up your own neck.
“Why?”
I still couldn’t hold back and asked directly.
Ameno Yotsuba blinked, his expression as if saying, “I didn’t expect you to ask that,” and then he replied in a tone so faint it was almost completely calm:
“Do you think anyone could threaten me?”
In that instant, my heart thudded.
It wasn’t provocation, nor an arrogant smile.
That sentence sounded more like an indisputable statement of fact.
He withdrew his hand, his fingertips lightly touching the side of his face, as if organizing his thoughts, or weighing whether my wariness was worth his time to explain.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “There’s no one else here now. The BHAO club’s administrator should be asleep at this hour, and the other players have all left. It’s self-service time, and the surveillance only does minimal recording.”
“Ha?”
I almost got sidetracked by him.
I stared at him with a burning gaze, my hand subconsciously gripping that bottle of snow-top coffee tightly, taking a sip to suppress the dryness in my throat, before forcing my volume low:
“It’s not… about whether there are people around.”
I raised that overly delicate finger, lacking any intimidation, pointing at myself, as if to nail the point firmly into his mind.
“Me! Me! Aren’t you afraid that I’ve made enemies with you in BHAO, and I’ll turn around and sell your real information, or simply make something happen to you in reality?”
My voice not only lacked momentum, but even carried a softness that made me want to sigh.
This body’s brought shame was starting to act up again.
But Ameno Yotsuba wasn’t scared by my words. He just looked at me, his gaze quiet and restrained, like watching a small beast with its spines raised but no real attack power.
“You won’t,” he said steadily. “If you would, you wouldn’t have reminded me of the danger earlier.”
I was speechless for a moment.
He folded his coat neatly, put it into his carry bag, his movements as composed as if ending an unimportant meeting, and only then lifted his eyes to look at the rest area behind me.
“This isn’t suitable for talking. Sit down.”
“I don’t like standing and wasting time.”
—That tone wasn’t a request, but a lightly stated command.
Clearly, he had been polite all along, yet from start to finish, he never truly handed me the “right to choose.”
“…Fine.”
I gritted my teeth and ultimately walked toward the BHAO club’s rest area.
It was a four-seater, with sofa cushions sewn onto a wooden frame, and a dining table in the middle. I placed the unfinished snow-top coffee on it and sat down myself.
Ameno Yotsuba then sat opposite me, his posture not lax, but rather like someone accustomed to giving orders: back straight, shoulders stable, even just sitting, making one feel he “occupied the space.”
“Yae Yoruichi.” He repeated my name. “Quite a gender-neutral name.”
Actually, it’s a boy’s name…
Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud, so I just blocked my mouth with the straw and mumbled “hm” vaguely.
After a brief silence, he got straight to the point, his tone still calm, but more oppressive than before:
“The proposal I mentioned in Endless World remains unchanged.”
“You, become one of my people.”
I almost choked on the coffee in my mouth.
“Cough… cough cough!”
Ameno Yotsuba didn’t back away, nor show an awkward smile. He just waited for me to catch my breath, then continued with a rationality that was almost cruel:
“You know your current situation yourself.”
“The Bloody Castle in the E3 district has already marked you as hostile. You don’t lack fame in BHAO, but fame can’t be a shield. You need a backer.”
His intonation had no exaggeration, not even “gentle persuasion,” more like a king proclaiming reality: you can refuse, but you must bear the cost.
“The reason you told me your real identity is also for this matter?”
I forced myself to suppress my emotions.
“You’re so sure… I’ll agree?”
“I don’t need you to agree immediately,” Ameno Yotsuba said faintly. “I just need you to understand: you have no better choice.”
—Clearly recruiting, yet without losing dignity.
He didn’t seem to be begging me, but rather reclaiming a piece that originally belonged to him.
I gripped the cup tightly, my fingertips slightly cold.
“Then at least answer one question for me first.” I lifted my head, staring into his eyes.
“How did you discover that I’m the witch?”
“That’s a good question.”
Ameno Yotsuba’s tone sank slightly, as if finally entering the main topic.
“How much do you know about the correspondence between reality and Endless World?”
“…I’ve heard a bit,” I answered, bracing myself.
“Endless World and reality correspond on a coordinate level,” he said. “The area you log in from determines your landing point in that area. The distances between areas are also roughly consistent with reality.”
This was indeed one of Endless World’s secrets: logging in from the N2 district lands you in N2’s corresponding terrain; logging in from E3 lands you in E3’s. If players want to meet up, they can move in reality and log in, or traverse on foot in Endless World.
“Since you understand this, you should grasp the next level.”
Ameno Yotsuba lifted his eyes, his gaze calm.
“Virtual-reality coordinate reverse deduction.”
“Reverse deduction?” I was stunned.
“Guard a certain area in advance, and through the cursor and landing disturbance when the target logs in, reverse locate the real position,” he said extremely concisely. “Simply put— I knew you would come here, I just needed to wait.”
A chill ran down my back.
This method didn’t require high tech, just “accurate intelligence + enough patience.”
But the problem was— how could he know my login time and location in advance?
The answer almost surfaced instantly.
“The dark web,” I gritted my teeth. “That ‘gear intelligence’ was released by you, right? You deliberately lured me here to steal the gear.”
“Yes.” Ameno Yotsuba admitted crisply. “I don’t like beating around the bush.”
A fire surged in my heart, but before I could erupt, he had already continued, his tone cold and steady:
“Me using you is a fact.”
“But you being able to leave the E3 district alive is also a fact.”
That sentence was like a bucket of cold water, forcibly dousing half my emotions.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pull the topic back to the key point:
“Then what exactly do you want me to do? You said ‘come back,’ come back where? Why must it be me?”
Ameno Yotsuba looked at me, silent for a second, then each word he spoke was heavier than before:
“Because you are the Night Witch.”
“And I… need the Night Witch to stand on my side.”
I furrowed my brows, about to press further, when I suddenly recalled another more glaring scene—
In that terrifying town in the E3 district, under the pressure of the expulsion countdown, I vaguely saw a light spot flash and vanish on BLOODY LOTUS’s cheek.
That wasn’t an ornament, nor like a skill effect.
More like… tears.
“Wait.” I couldn’t help interrupting. “I saw BLOODY LOTUS cry. Why would she—”
Before I finished, Ameno Yotsuba’s gaze sank slightly.
Not anger, nor jealousy, but a deeper coldness pressed into his bones.
“She was once my subordinate,” he said calmly.
“…What?”
“BLOODY LOTUS was once under me.”
Ameno Yotsuba’s tone remained restrained, yet like announcing a history that couldn’t be questioned.
“And the past me was the true king of Bloody Castle. It was after ‘that incident’ that I handed the territory to her and helped her ascend to the King position.”
I was speechless for a moment.
He paused, as if giving me time to digest, or confirming if I was qualified to continue listening, then slowly added the final sentence:
“That territory wasn’t originally called Bloody Castle.”
“Its original name was Shadow Dominion.”
—The air seemed to solidify.
I finally understood why BLOODY LOTUS showed such complex emotions when facing him: anger, sadness, struggle, even like losing something.
And Ameno Yotsuba’s voice remained low, gloomy, yet carrying a thick “story sense,” as if every word dragged the shadow of an old throne:
“BLOODY LOTUS’s tears were shed for her former king.”
“And now— her former king has returned.”
My throat tightened.
“So you’re looking for me to seize back the territory?” I asked lowly. “To take back Shadow Dominion?”
Ameno Yotsuba didn’t answer immediately, just looking at me. That gaze was calm like a blade edge, carrying an indisputable king’s pressure.
Finally, he gave the conclusion in one sentence:
“A King doesn’t take back what he has given away.”
“A true king wants to expand the realm.”