Chapter 2: Joker

An ambulance siren tore through the night.

Red and blue lights flashed across the hospital windows as paramedics rushed a stretcher through the emergency entrance. Arata lay still beneath a white sheet, the oxygen mask covering most of his face. Blood stained his clothes, while the steady beep of the monitor followed him down the corridor.
”Move, move!"
"Blood pressure is dropping!"
"Get the operating room ready!”

The doors swung open.
”Possible internal injuries. We need to operate immediately.”

Arata wanted to laugh.
So this is it… So that was how bad things had gotten.

The wheels rattled against the floor as they rushed him deeper into the hospital. Arata could still hear the voices around him, but they sounded distant. Muffled. Almost as if he were listening to people from the bottom of a pool.
”Operating room is ready."
"Get him inside.”
**“**What’s his condition?"
"Not good.” The voice was calm and professional. Almost emotionless.
”Then we operate immediately.”
Arata’s eyelids twitched. He tried to open them.
Nothing.
Just darkness.

For some reason, his mind kept dragging him back to the crosswalk.
The truck.
The book.
Mr. Wang.
He had spent his whole life believing that everything happened for a reason.
Not fate. Not some grand plan written in the stars. Just cause and effect.
Borrow money, pay it back.
Break a rule, face the consequences.
Work hard, get rewarded.
Follow the system, survive.
Simple. At least, that was how he had always seen it. He had built his entire life around that idea.

And now?
What had any of it actually amounted to?
A decent job. Some money. A respectable appearance. A few useful connections. A relationship that had ended without much of a fight. And a career built around convincing desperate people to ruin themselves financially. He had spent years turning himself into exactly the kind of adult society expected him to be. And now he was lying on an operating table, unable to even open his eyes.

*What was the point?* For once, Arata had no answer. He had no family he could depend on. No one waiting for him at home. No one who would panic if he suddenly disappeared tomorrow. Mei had been the only person he really had. And even she had already walked away.

So what exactly had he accomplished?
He had spent years chasing money, following rules, climbing the ladder and convincing himself that this was what being an adult was supposed to look like.

But deep down, he had always known what his job really was. He took advantage of desperate people. He offered them an easy way out when they were at their weakest, even though he knew there was a good chance that the path he showed them would only push them deeper into debt. He had always told himself that they had a choice. Maybe they did. But that didn’t make what he had done any better.

*I knew exactly what I was doing. There’s no point pretending otherwise now.* There was no one here to judge him. And there was no one here to forgive him either.
*It’s not like anyone is waiting for me anyway.* His thoughts slowly began to fade. Arata almost laughed.

*What a pathetic life.* He had spent so much time worrying about money, contracts, work and staying ahead that he had never stopped to ask himself what he was actually living for.

Now, lying here with his body barely holding together, he finally had nothing but time to think about it.

And the answer was still nothing.

*So this is how it ends?* His thoughts drifted back to Wang. At least Wang had gotten his chance. A faint smile formed somewhere in his mind.
*I was actually rooting for him.* If Wang had killed him, maybe Arata could have called it revenge. At least that would have made some kind of sense. But no. He had been hit by a truck instead.

*Seriously? What a loser.* The darkness grew heavier. The voices around him slowly faded into the distance.
”Doctor, his condition is worsening."
"Stay with us.”
Arata’s thoughts grew slower and slower.

For the first time in years, there was nothing left to calculate. Just darkness.

*My life…* He tried to finish the thought. He couldn’t. His consciousness slipped away and the last thing Arata Yoshito thought before his eyes closed was—

Guess this is where it ends.

A brief pause.

Death, huh… For someone like me, I suppose it’s not that surprising.
Still… what a ridiculously dramatic way to die.

Then, somewhere deep inside the darkness, he heard someone laughing.
”Heh… hehehehe…”
Arata’s thoughts stopped. A strange voice echoed through the darkness.
”Nah.”

A brief pause.

“This is only the beginning.”
Then everything glitched.There was no warning. No transition.

One moment, Arata was surrounded by darkness.
The next, the darkness itself seemed to split apart. The world flickered like a broken screen, with fragments of light and strange images appearing and vanishing in front of him.

*What the hell…?* He couldn’t move. He wasn’t even sure where his body was anymore. Then he saw something.

At first, it looked as though he were seeing through someone else’s eyes.
A dark room.
Candles.
Strange symbols covering the floor.
A man stood in the center of it all, surrounded by what looked like some kind of ritual. But something felt wrong. Arata could see the man’s hands. His clothes. His face. Even the room itself from different angles.

*Wait…* He wasn’t seeing through the man’s eyes. He was seeing the man himself.
From outside.
From above.
From behind.
From everywhere at once.

*What the hell is happening?* The man slowly raised his hands and began chanting words Arata couldn’t understand. The candles flickered violently. The symbols on the floor began to glow.

Arata stared. Something about the scene felt familiar. Far too familiar.
The room.
The ritual.
The man’s appearance. Even the way the scene unfolded. Everything. Then his thoughts suddenly stopped.
*No.* His eyes widened.
*It can’t be.* He knew this scene. He had written this scene.

*What the fuck…?* The man standing in the center of the ritual slowly turned his head.
Arata recognized him immediately.
His pale face.
His long dark coat.
His silver hair. And those unmistakable crimson eyes.
Arata’s mind went completely blank for a moment. Then the name came rushing back.

Count Alicard Dantès.

His expression twisted with disbelief.
*No way.* He stared at the scene again, desperately searching for another explanation.
*That can’t be true.* His heart pounded, even though he wasn’t sure whether he still had a body.
*Am I seriously…* A terrible realization began to take shape.
Am I seriously inside my own novel?!

“Yes, indeed.”
Arata froze.

That voice. The same voice that had laughed in the darkness.
”…You?”
A quiet chuckle answered him.
”Hehehehe… You got there rather quickly.”
Arata turned toward the voice.
Then everything suddenly went dark again. The darkness swallowed everything around him, leaving him suspended in nothingness. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet. He couldn’t even tell whether he was standing anymore.

Then—
A single light appeared. It illuminated a figure standing in the middle of the darkness, like a spotlight suddenly turning on in the center of a stage.

A man.

He wore an extravagant clown-like outfit, far too colorful and theatrical for the empty space around him. His face was hidden behind a strange mask shaped like a sideways ”:>”, covering only his face while leaving the rest of his head exposed.

For a moment, he stood completely still. Then he slowly tilted his head. Almost unnaturally.
”Ta-da~!”
He threw both arms into the air.
”Welcome, welcome, welcome!”

Arata stared at him.
The masked man spun around once, his coat fluttering dramatically behind him before he stopped and bowed deeply.
”To the greatest show you never asked to attend!"
"…Who are you?”

The man slowly raised his head.
”Oh?”

He placed a hand against his chest, looking genuinely offended.
”Straight to business? Not even a little scream? A gasp? Perhaps a dramatic ‘Where am I?!’"
"I already know where I am.”

The masked man paused. Then he leaned forward.
”Oh?”

Arata narrowed his eyes.
”My novel.”

The man’s shoulders began to shake.
”Hehehe…”
Then he suddenly burst into laughter.
”HAHAHAHAHA!”

Arata’s expression darkened.
”You’re the one who was laughing earlier."
"Guilty!”

The man pointed both fingers at himself with an exaggerated grin.
”Mabu.”
He gave another ridiculous little bow.
”That’s what you may call me."
"Mabu…"
"Correct…. Four letters, two syllables, wonderfully easy to remember.”

Arata ignored him.
”The Count.”
Mabu’s head tilted. Arata continued.
”Count Alicard Dantès. That scene I saw earlier…”
His eyes narrowed.
”That was from my story.”

Mabu raised one finger.
”Yes."
"You showed it to me."
"Yes again!"
"Why?”

Mabu clapped his hands together.
”Because explaining everything is dreadfully boring.”
He snapped his fingers. The darkness behind him flickered.

For a split second, images appeared—places, people, strange creatures, fragments of scenes from Arata’s story. Mabu waved his hand through them like a stage magician.
”Why tell you about the world when I can simply show you?”

He spread his arms.
”Well, think of it as a live-action adaptation…….”
Arata stared at him.
”Huh?!…Live-action…"
"Exactly!”

Mabu spun on his heel and pointed dramatically into the darkness.
”Your characters. Your world. Your story.”
He turned back toward Arata.
”Except this time…..”
His smile widened.
”You’re inside it.”

Arata stayed silent. Then one thought surfaced.
”How did you find my story?”
Mabu stopped. Arata’s expression turned colder.
”I never showed it to anyone. Nobody should know about it.”
For a moment, Mabu simply stared at him.There was no smile on his face.

Then—
He waved a hand dismissively.
”Ah, ah, ah. That’s not the important part."
"What?”

“The important part is what happens next.”
Mabu stepped closer, bending forward until his masked face was only a short distance from Arata’s.
”You have a story to finish.”

Arata frowned.
”What are you talking about?"
"You’re the writer, aren’t you?"
"Yes.”
Arata stared at him for a moment.
”Finish it?"
"Yeap"
"What the hell do you mean by ‘finish it’?”

Mabu tilted his head.
”Isn’t it obvious?"
"No. Not even slightly.”

Mabu spread his arms.
”Finish it means finish it.”

Arata’s expression immediately hardened.
”…You mean.. reach the end?"
"Bingo…. Exactly."
"And what happens after I reach the end?"
"You win.”

Arata was silent. Then he gave a small, humorless laugh.
”You expect me to play this game until I win?”

Mabu nodded cheerfully.
”That’s usually how games work."
"This isn’t a game.”

Mabu’s grin widened.
”Oh, but it is.”

Arata’s eyes narrowed.
”You’ve turned my story into some kind of survival game and thrown me into it. You know exactly what that means."
"Of course."
"Then you should know how brutal it is.”
Mabu said nothing. Arata continued.
”People die in that story. A lot of them.”
He took a slow breath.
”I know exactly what happens in that story,” Arata said, his voice turning colder. “This isn’t some adventure where the heroes fight monsters, overcome a few obstacles and somehow come out stronger. It’s a twisted representation of humanity at its ugliest. People betray each other, use each other, kill each other for power, money, survival, or sometimes for nothing more than proving they can. There are people in that world who are stronger than anything a normal human being should ever have to face and there are situations where being clever, careful, or even knowing the future won’t save you. Once certain events begin, people get dragged into them whether they want to or not and some of those events don’t end until someone is dead. I wrote that world. I know how cruel it can become. So don’t stand there and tell me to ‘finish it’ like this is some ridiculous game I can simply clear by trying hard enough.”

Mabu leaned forward.
”So?"
"So my chances of surviving this are close to zero."
"Hmm…”
Mabu gave a small shrug.
”Then you’ll have to try very hard.”

Arata stared at him.
”You really don’t understand."
"Oh?"
"I know exactly how brutal this gets.”
His voice became completely serious.
”If this world follows the story I wrote, then I know what happens to people who get involved in those events.”

Mabu’s smile remained.
”And you’re still the writer.”

Arata’s expression hardened.
”I was a writer,” he said. “Just a writer. That’s all.”
He took a step forward.
”When I wrote it, I never imagined some twisted psychopath would actually turn it into reality and throw people into it. I never wrote it expecting this to happen. I never even showed this story to anyone.”
His voice grew sharper.
”So don’t stand there and act like this is somehow my responsibility just because I happened to write it.”
Arata looked away for a moment.

Mabu blinked.
”Hm?”

Arata looked back at him.
”This is exactly why I’m not doing it.”

Mabu’s smile disappeared for just a second.
”You understand that if you don’t finish the game, someone else might?”

Arata’s eyes narrowed.
”Good.”
Mabu stared at him. Arata crossed his arms.
”Let someone else finish it."
"And if they do?"
"Then I don’t care.”

Mabu was silent for a moment. Then he spoke casually.
”Well, either way, you will die.”

Arata’s expression changed slightly.
”What?”

Mabu’s voice was still strangely light.
”You’ll either die in the game, or you’ll die here without playing.”
Arata stared at him. Mabu continued.
”Someone else can finish the game. Someone else can become the winner.”
He paused.
”But you?”
His smile slowly returned.
”You’ll still be dead."
"…And if I don’t?”

Mabu’s smile disappeared.
”You die.”

Arata’s eyes narrowed.
”In here?"
"Nope.”

Mabu tapped the side of his mask.
”Out there.”
Silence.
”You’re not dead, Arata Yoshito.”

Mabu pointed downward.
”You’re in a coma.”
Arata’s expression shifted slightly.
”Your body is still in the real world, lying in a hospital bed.”
Mabu spread his arms.
”And this?”

He gestured toward the darkness around them.
”This is a virtual world."
"A virtual world?"
"Mm-hm."
"What does that mean?”

Mabu shrugged.
”An experiment.”

He leaned closer.
”And you’re the test subject.”

Arata stared at him.
”A test subject…”

“Congratulations!”
Mabu suddenly threw both hands into the air.
”You’re the lucky winner of absolutely no prizes!”

Arata’s face remained expressionless.
”So someone took my story, turned it into a game and dragged me into it."
"Technically—"
"You used my work without permission.”
Mabu froze.

Arata pointed at him.
”You can’t just take someone’s story and use it for an experiment.”

Mabu slowly raised one finger.
”Well…”
He tilted his head.
”If you want to sue us, you’ll have to finish the story first.”

Arata stared at him. Mabu gave him a cheerful little wave.
”Good luck with that!”

Arata sighed.
”Unbelievable."
"Indeed!"
"Then there should be some compensation.”

Mabu stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed softly.
”You really are Arata."
"What does that mean?"
"Even when you’re supposedly facing death, you’re still negotiating.”

Mabu suddenly leaned against an invisible wall that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
”But since you are the writer…”

He tapped his chin.
”I suppose I can give you a little something."
"A little something?"
"Three favors.”

Mabu raised three fingers.
”Three! Anything you want.”

Arata looked at him.
”Anything?"
"Well…”

Mabu’s finger moved slightly.
”Within reason."
"Send me back."
"Nope.”

Arata stared.
”That was fast."
"Can’t do it."
"Then what’s the point of asking?"
"Exactly!”
Mabu gave him a thumbs-up.

Arata stared at him for several seconds. Then he thought.
Three favors.
If going home wasn’t possible, then he needed something else.Something useful. His eyes lifted.
”Then I want —”

Mabu’s body suddenly went completely still. His hand slowly lowered. For the first time since Arata had met him, the clown-like man looked genuinely surprised. Then his shoulders began to shake.
”Hehehe…”
A grin slowly appeared beneath the mask.
”Well…” He laughed again.
”I didn’t expect that.”

Arata frowned.
”What?”

Mabu straightened himself and spread his arms.
”Your first favor.”
He snapped his fingers.
A strange sensation passed through Arata’s body.
”Granted with a bonus…”

He raised one hand.
”Writer Privilege.”
[Skill Acquired: Writer Privilege]
[Type: Unique]
[Description: A special skill granted exclusively to the original writer.]

Arata paused.
”What’s that?”

Mabu leaned forward. Then whispered—
“Figure it out yourself.”

Arata stared at him.
”You’re annoying."
"And you’re going to love me!"
"Never."
"Well, Let’s see”

Mabu spun around dramatically.
”Now then…”
He pointed into the darkness.
”Shall we begin?”

The spotlight above him flickered. His silhouette stretched across the floor. And for the first time, Arata truly understood something. This wasn’t a dream or afterlife.And, somehow, it wasn’t his story anymore. It was a game.
And somehow… He was the player.

The moment the thought crossed his mind, something felt wrong. The darkness around him began to tremble.
”…What?”

The floor beneath his feet disappeared. The spotlight vanished. Everything around him cracked like glass. Arata’s body suddenly felt heavy. His vision blurred.

Then—
He was somewhere else. A dark room. Candles burned along the walls, their flames flickering softly in the silence. Strange symbols covered the floor.

Arata froze.
He knew this room. His eyes slowly moved across the chamber. The long black coat hanging over his shoulders. The pale hands resting in front of him. The silver hair falling across his face. Arata’s breathing stopped.

He raised one hand. It wasn’t his hand. His fingers were thinner.
Paler.
Different.
He stumbled toward a nearby mirror. And there he was. Crimson eyes stared back at him. A face he had only ever imagined. A face that had existed inside his head before any of this happened.
”…No.”
Arata’s voice came out different.
Deeper.
Colder.
He touched his face. Then his hair. His clothes. Everything was wrong.
”No, no, no…”

A familiar voice suddenly echoed through the room.
”Hehehehe…”

Arata’s entire body stiffened.
Mabu.
But this time, there was no one there. Only his voice.
”Oh, I almost forgot to mention something.”

Arata slowly looked around.
”Where are you?”

Mabu’s laughter echoed through the room.
”Hehehe… Why are you looking for me?”

Arata frowned.
”Show yourself."
"Oh, come on. I think you’ll be much more interested in looking at yourself right now.”

Arata’s expression tightened.
”…What?”

Mabu’s voice suddenly seemed to come from everywhere at once.
”Anyway, I almost forgot something…”

A cheerful pause.
”One tiny little detail.”

Arata stared at his reflection.
”What detail?”

Mabu’s voice became suspiciously playful.
”Nothing important, really.”

Arata narrowed his eyes.
”Then why are you bringing it up?"
"Hehehe… Because I almost forgot to tell you!”
A brief pause.
”You’re going to play as Alucard in this game.”
Silence.
Arata’s face went completely blank.

Then—
“What?”
Mabu laughed.
”Hehehehe! That’s right!”

Arata’s breathing became heavier.
”You’re kidding."
"Nope…"
"Alucard..!."
"Uh-huh…"
"The final boss?!"
"Bingo.”

Arata’s pupils shrank.
”No fucking way. You kidding me, right?!”

Mabu suddenly burst into laughter.
”HAHAHAHA! Look at that face! Oh, I really wish I could take a picture right now!”

Arata clenched his teeth.
”Change it."
"Can’t."
"Why?"
"Because it’s already decided!”
A brief pause.
”And besides…”
Mabu’s voice became even more playful.
”I think you’ll look absolutely wonderful as the final boss.”

Arata stared at the mirror. At the pale face. At the silver hair. At those crimson eyes.

Mabu gave a cheerful little chuckle.
”Have fun, Writer.”

The voice slowly faded away. Arata remained frozen.
Count Alucard Dantès.
The character he had imagined as the final obstacle of the entire story. The final enemy. The monster everyone was supposed to fear. A character he had never even drawn. And now—

That face was his. Arata’s expression slowly twisted in horror.
I’m the fucking final boss?!