The words were spoken without hesitation, and Lucas placed down the sword. There was no fear in his eyes, only an eerie wave of calmness that came with a deep understanding of himself.

He was no saint, no heroic man—he was somebody who found murder to be trifling and unnecessary.

It was quite simple, really. 

He would kill if it was the best choice, and he would not kill if it was the better option. But Lucas remembered every face that died at his hands in those pointless street fights. They were few, but they had existed.

Regardless, there was another point to the conversation. "Do you know anybody who has filled the 50 shoes quota?"

"Not one." The man shook his head. "I've heard some players talking, but many are short by at least 10 glass slippers. The map has lost all colour—there's not many slippers left to collect."

Was the purpose of this Story a player-killing game? 

To pit people against people? Was that the only way to win? 

No, he remembered how these Stories worked. All the safe Stories, ones where nothing out of ordinary could kill anybody, were ones that always had a means of winning without any death. Even if it never ended that way.

"I...I have a suspicion for another purpose. But I can't risk my life to carry it out."

"What is it?"

"I'm a psychology professor. There's a game that I've done with my students, called 'Win as Much as You Can!' It's based on the Prisoner's Dilemma problem." The man's eyes seemed to brighten when speaking, before he collected himself.

He was truly passionate about the subject, and hesitantly wondered about the well-being of his students. Although they bothered him, and some never showed up for class, he hoped they would survive.

"Ahem, anyways, there is the simple task to win as much as you can. The students were divided into four groups, and the rules were that each group, privately, had to hold up either an X or a Y."

"Continue."

"Essentially, if everyone chose X, then everyone lost points. If they all chose Y, everybody scored points. However, if there are both X's and Y's, those that chose X won more points, while those who chose Y got fewer points. It was inevitable that most decided to choose X for their own self-interest."

Lucas was beginning to understand, and listened patiently. 

If the objective was to get as many glass slippers as possible, and the 'groups' of the experiment were each individual—were they playing into a ridiculous farce?

Although this was more simple, with only the aim of finding glass slippers existing, and without the rules of points that created conflict. Yet, it was true that Cinderella never stated that the way of winning was for each person to collect 50 shoes or more.

They were all played for fools.

"It is a possibility that the only thing we needed to do in this Story was collectively gather 100 shoes and more if possible. There is no winner or loser." 

The man tapped at the ring wrapped around his thumb, before noticing Lucas' gaze. "Ah, this was a gift from my daughter. It was far too large, so I always had to wear it around my thumb."

Lucas nodded, before falling into a deep silence. The issue was, he still felt like there was something missing. 

If that was truly the case, while many had died pointlessly, everybody still surviving would finish this Story.

Although this was supposed to be easy, and without death, there was no way Cinderella would make winning a definite.

He crossed his legs, knitting his eyebrows together. The players, or Characters had to obtain the shoes in order for them to own it. Currently, it was a blood-bath as humans murdered humans to gain enough shoes.

What if the glass slippers belonged to whoever took them first?

Then the shoes confiscated from all those killed wouldn't count, and it would truly live up to Cinderella's schemes. Lucas paled, gripping his knee. If that was the case...

"Maybe, we're all going to die."

The middle-aged man snapped his head, eyes bulging in horror. "Boy, you shouldn't say things like that so easily."

"They don't want us to survive. But they also gave us a way to live. The purpose of this Story isn't to kill, it's to collaborate. The ones that are dead have their shoes confiscated."

Cinderella said, 'The dead can't play!'

Find, steal, take. Never kill.

The man shook his head frantically, gasping as his words choked. "That's a joke, isn't it? Do you know how many have already died, how many shoes are left? We've walked into our own death, that's what it means! Does that even make sense? What was the entire point of all of this?"

"This is an introduction to the cruelty of humans. There's no reason, or purpose. Why are we in this Story, what is happening to the world? Isn't it just a big game with us in the center?"

"This is just a damn killing game, then! We're pigs waiting to be slaughtered!"

"You're right." Lucas nodded calmly, slowly standing up as he gazed at the dark skies beyond the edge. This was only the beginning. He knew how the story continued, the aimless slaughter, the destruction. "Perhaps this is our judgment."

He didn't understand the reason his story came to life, or what the destination was. But it wouldn't end simply, wouldn't end beautifully—it would only end with everybody dead, and the world burning.

What could be said at the moment was that they needed to alert everybody, warn them of the consequence of murder.

"Come on, old man—"

Bang—!

Crimson splattered onto his black clothes, spilling on the ground as the man, his hand stretched towards Lucas, fell back with wide eyes. A welling of tears, of a hope that never succeeded. 

His hand, the ring gleaming in the moonlight, drooped, collapsing at his dying side.

A small void marked the bullet in the center of his forehead.

Lucas watched, surprised before he turned his head to meet the crazed eyes of a certain youth, perched on the railing with one leg crossed and a gun outstretched. The youth grinned, two crescents peering at his victim.

"Hello~ we meet again, Ghost! Want me to predict the weather for you?"

Lucas narrowed his eyes, before calmly stepping into the small puddle of blood that started to spread, without mind for his clothes. He crouched down, ignoring the other, as he carefully slipped the ring off the man's fallen hand. 

It came off easily, coated in blood and loss.

He stared at it, wiped it briefly on his jacket, before slipping it over his own thumb. It was a little small, but that was the safest place for it.

When he grabbed it, a row of text appeared before his eyes.

[A dead man's desire (rare)

Description: An object that has been claimed by the world because of the strong lingerings of obsession. Let it lead the way to the path you desire by shouting, repeat, shouting, "Old man, show me the way!" One time use.

Additional: Isn't it a pity that the father's sole wish can never be fulfilled?]

Empty eyes gazed at the youth, corpse at his feet. "What..."

"Do you think you're doing?"

"Isn't that obvious? Killing!" exclaimed the blood-thirsty youth.

"Do you have a death wish?"

"Nope!"

Lucas nodded faintly, truly resembling a ghost in the moment as he raised his chin slightly, raising his sword in the air to point it ahead. There was only a swirl of cold in his stare, nothing more. 

"Good. I'll kill you, then."

There was no doubt that anybody would fall under the man's dominant blade, poised with no fear for life or death. A resolution to kill, if necessary.

The other laughed sharply, shaking their head before pointing at the room. 

He raised the gun in his hand, finger around the trigger excitedly. "There's a rule, haha. The story can't continue without its Characters. An apple seller's death means nothing, but what about Cinderella? The Fairy Godmother can always find her, to kill or save her."

Lucas' mind spun, both with a reminder of Nora, who was within the crowd, searching for answers to end this tale, and then the presence of Cinderella. He played the prince, so who played her?

Pale blue clothes, blonde hair that was almost golden. He looked down at the dead body on the ground.

"And if the main characters are killed," continued the youth happily.

The trigger was pressed, and glass shattered behind Lucas, flying through the air. Screams rung out, and a loud laugh erupted from the youth as he leaned forward dangerously.

"There's going to be a downpour, Ghost!"