Tom steadied his breathing, forcing himself to look calm.

"What about the pen?" he asked Emilia, trying to sound casual. "It's just a fountain pen. I've seen plenty like it. What's so special about this one?"

Emilia's gaze sharpened. "Because you also have one like this."

Tom froze. His throat tightened as he replied in a trembling voice, "Yes, I have fountain pens. So what?"

Emilia crossed her arms, her tone calm but laced with accusation. "Do you think I'm a fool? I know what that pen is — the reality-bending pen."

Tom's heart skipped a beat. How could she know?

He forced a weak laugh. "Are you crazy? If I had something like that, why would I be living alone?"

She leaned closer. "During school, you never spent a coin in the canteen. You didn't even own a bike. You were broke. But now you dine in the city's most expensive restaurant? You expect me to believe that's 'savings'?"

Tom stayed silent.

"I saw you that day," Emilia continued. "You ordered the costliest dishes and ate like it was nothing. People dress like celebrities there, but you walked in wearing casual clothes and didn't even flinch while paying the bill. No one who saved that much would spend it so easily, Tom."

He clenched his fists. "So what? I just wanted to experience it once. Is that a crime?"

"The crime," she said softly, "is lying to me."

Tom sighed. "Then tell me—how did you get that pen?"

Emilia hesitated. "I… had a dream. A man appeared and handed it to me. He didn't say his name, but when I woke up, the pen was lying on my table."

Tom's thoughts spiraled. Was it Razor? Or… Mr. Who?

He asked cautiously, "Did that person say anything?"

Emilia nodded. "He told me—'Write your own story with this.'"

Tom's breath caught. That line… it's the same as the rule in the note. But if the author brings a character into the Dreamspace, he dies. Then who gave her the pen? Larry? Or someone else?

"Tom?" Emilia's voice broke his thoughts. "Why did you go quiet?"

Before he could answer, she asked, "Tell me—what can this pen actually do?"

And then—everything froze.

The café, the streets, even the wind—time itself stopped.

Tom's eyes widened. "This… again? Could it be—Larry?"

But it wasn't Larry. The scenery shifted in an instant. The walls dissolved into endless grasslands under a pale, unmoving sky.

A man approached—dressed entirely in white, his presence sharp yet cold.

Emilia's lips parted. "You… aren't you the one who gave me the pen?"

The man smiled faintly. "Yes. That's why I summoned you here."

Tom frowned. "She already has the pen. Why summon me?"

The man laughed softly. "Don't be naïve, Tom. I know you have the pen too — the one hidden in your Dreamspace."

"Dreamspace?" Emilia whispered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you everything." The man's voice turned calm, almost ethereal. "My name is Ice, leader of The Razors."

Then he explained — about the pens, the Dreamspace, and the mysterious organization that hunted down their wielders. Emilia listened silently, her face pale.

When Ice finally stopped, Tom asked coldly, "Then why summon me? I already know all this."

Ice smiled — a smile that felt like frost cutting through the air. "I summoned you to tell you about the Threads of Fate."

He raised his hand, and countless glowing strands appeared in the air — thin, golden lines stretching across the void.

"These threads connect everyone — character to character, author to author," he said. "Your fate is already written… but the way it intertwines is far more complex than you can imagine."

The threads shimmered like stars, wrapping around Tom and Emilia.

And for the first time, Tom felt it — that his story was no longer his alone.