THE STRATEGIST: Monster of the game

Cracks

The moment Lyra stepped in front of Soren, the air changed.

Not magically.

Politically.

Cameras refocused. Commentary drones adjusted their angles. Analysts behind screens started talking fast, voices overlapping, feeding interpretations into the world in real time.

“Soren, this is your last chance to disengage,” Director Reeves said quietly. “If you remain here, you become a permanent factor in global security doctrine.”

Soren glanced at her.

“Sounds expensive.”

She didn’t smile.

“You just rejected Zephyr Union,” Lyra said. “You embarrassed them. They don’t forgive that.”

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass them,” Soren replied.

“That makes it worse.”

He sighed.

“Figures.”

Behind the barricades, people whispered.

Some looked hopeful.

Some afraid.

Some furious.

Some calculating.

He could almost hear their thoughts.

What is he?

Can he protect us?

Can he be controlled?

Can he be killed?

Soren rolled his shoulders once.

This is why I stayed out.

Lyra stepped closer. “I’m taking you off-site.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“No,” she said. “You’re being protected.”

“That sounds suspiciously like arrest with better branding.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “You’re funny.”

“I’m exhausted.”

Hana Reeves raised a hand. “We need consent.”

Soren blinked.

“Wow. You really are different from the other world.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Never mind.”

He looked back at Mina.

She was sitting on a stretcher, wrapped in a thermal blanket, holding a juice box with both hands.

She met his eyes.

Soren lifted two fingers.

A promise.

She nodded.

Lyra noticed.

“You’re forming emotional anchors,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “It’s called being human.”

She didn’t respond.

The First Shot

It happened without warning.

A soft, almost polite sound.

Phft.

The bullet didn’t exist.

Not in any visible sense.

It was a compressed mana filament, accelerated through layered spatial folding—undetectable by civilian sensors.

Designed to kill S-rank hunters.

It reached Soren’s head in 0.03 seconds.

And then—

It stopped.

Not by force.

By absence.

The space where it should have been simply… rejected it.

Reality bent.

The filament unraveled.

The compressed mana screamed.

Then ceased.

Lyra spun.

“SNIPER!”

Chaos erupted.

Barriers slammed down.

Drones deployed countermeasures.

Hunters drew weapons.

Soren didn’t move.

Not because he was fearless.

Because he was… confused.

“…That was supposed to kill me, wasn’t it?”

Lyra stared at him.

“Yes.”

He tilted his head.

“Huh.”

The crowd panicked.

Someone screamed.

Mina dropped her juice box.

Soren felt something shift.

Not rage.

Not fear.

Clarity.

So that’s how this world works.

You get noticed.

Then you get tested.

Then you get erased.

Familiar.

He stepped forward.

Lyra grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

He gently removed her hand.

“I’m not attacking anyone,” he said.

“But I am done pretending.”

He looked up.

Not at the sniper.

At the system behind the sniper.

Whoever ordered it.

Whoever paid for it.

Whoever expected him to die quietly.

“Listen,” Soren said.

And the world did.

“I’m not a weapon.”

The drones hovered.

“But if you try to use me like one—”

A ripple passed through the air.

Not heat.

Not mana.

Narrative pressure.

“—you will not like the outcome.”

Silence.

The sniper was extracted within seconds.

Black-ops teleport.

Clean.

Efficient.

Lyra’s jaw was clenched.

“They just declared you a threat.”

Soren nodded.

“Yeah.”

Hana whispered, “That was Zephyr.”

Lyra swore.

Soren exhaled.

“So it begins.”

The World Rewrites Him

Hours later.

Underground.

Secure transport.

Soundproof.

Soren sat with his hands on his knees.

Lyra across from him.

Reeves to the side.

No cameras.

No audience.

No performances.

Just truth.

“You stopped a high-tier assassination attempt without activating mana,” Hana said.

“Yeah.”

“That is impossible.”

“Also yeah.”

Lyra studied him.

“Your presence warps probability.”

Soren shrugged. “Happens.”

“That’s not a joke.”

“Neither is my life.”

Silence.

Then Hana asked:

“What are you?”

Soren closed his eyes.

Twenty years.

Twenty years of explaining himself.

He opened them.

“I’m tired.”

That was the truest answer.

Lyra leaned back.

“You didn’t deny being non-human.”

“I am human.”

She waited.

“I’m just… over-leveled.”

She stared.

“…That’s not a real term.”

“It is where I’m from.”

Hana inhaled.

“We need to classify you.”

“No.”

“We need to understand you.”

“No.”

“We need to—”

Soren stood.

The room did not shake.

But the idea of him standing carried weight.

“I didn’t survive hell to become your case file.”

Lyra slowly stood too.

“Soren… this world doesn’t let things like you exist freely.”

He met her eyes.

“Then it’s about to change.”

The Cracks Form

Later.

Alone.

Temporary safehouse.

No guards.

No cameras.

Just him.

Soren stood by the window, watching the city.

Lights.

Movement.

Life.

He should have felt relieved.

Instead, something inside him… stirred.

Not power.

Not anger.

Responsibility.

Damn it.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t want this.”

He thought of Mina.

Her question.

Are you going to disappear too?

He clenched his jaw.

In the other world, he had fought because he had to.

Here…

He didn’t.

That was worse.

Because choice carried guilt.

And guilt created monsters.

The air shimmered.

A familiar black flame flickered at his fingertips.

He extinguished it instantly.

No.

Not yet.

Not here.

Not again.

A knock came.

Three taps.

Lyra.

He opened the door.

She looked… tired.

Not physically.

Mentally.

“Zephyr isn’t the only faction,” she said.

“Let me guess.”

She nodded.

“They all want you.”

Soren leaned against the frame.

“Great.”

She hesitated.

“Some want to recruit you.”

“Figures.”

“Some want to dissect you.”

“Expected.”

“…Some want you dead.”

“Classic.”

Lyra met his gaze.

“And some want to worship you.”

He froze.

“…What?”

She nodded grimly.

“The moment you bent that attack without mana, cult-class narratives triggered.”

Soren rubbed his face.

“I hate this planet.”

She smirked.

“Welcome home.”

And Somewhere…

A screen lit up.

A woman watched footage.

Golden eyes.

Perfect posture.

Divine calm.

“Subject has returned,” she said.

The goddess smiled.

“He should have stayed gone.”