Mark stared down at the kid prostrating himself on the flagstones.

  "Get up," he said flatly.

  The kid didn't move. "Shishou, please accept me as your—"

  "I said get up." Mark's voice carried an edge now. "And stay there. Don't say anything."

  The kid's head lifted, confusion flickering across his face. But something in Mark's expression made him obey. He scrambled to his feet and stood frozen, mouth clamped shut.

  Mark turned away from him without another glance.

  "Mark, that was incredible," Maggie started, stepping toward him. "The way you—"

  "Later."

  He walked past her toward the cats.

  Maggie stood there, slightly deflated, watching him go. Then something soft brushed against her leg.

  One of the cats—a grey tabby the size of a labrador—was rubbing its head against her calf. Another one, orange and white, sat in front of her with expectant eyes. A third was already weaving between her ankles.

  "Oh," Maggie said. "Uh, hi?"

  The grey tabby meowed. It was a surprisingly normal sound for something its size.

  She crouched down, hesitantly reaching out to scratch behind its ears. The cat's eyes closed in bliss, a rumbling purr vibrating through its massive body. The orange one immediately pushed its head under her other hand, demanding equal attention.

  "Okay, okay, there's enough of me for everyone."

  Four cats surrounded her now, all demanding pets. The fifth—a sleek black cat—sat apart from the others, watching Mark approach.

  Mark stopped in front of the black cat. They regarded each other for a moment.

  "Mark," the cat said. Its voice was low, smooth, with a faint British accent.

  "Whiskers."

  The cat's tail flicked with annoyance. "That's not my name."

  "It's the name your owner gave you."

  "My owner was three years old."

  "Still counts." Mark's mouth twitched. "What do you want me to call you? Lord Shadowfang? Emperor Midnight?"

  The cat's eyes narrowed. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

  "I'm exactly as funny as I think I am. Let's skip the banter. I know what you're going to say."

  "He's in our territory." Whiskers glanced toward the kid, who was still standing frozen where Mark had left him. "You know what that means."

  "I know. But he's no good." Mark shook his head. "Too unstable. You saw what he manifested—he nearly killed himself with his own nightmare. Why not give up on this one?"

  He crouched down, bringing himself to the cat's eye level, and began scratching under its chin. Whiskers' eyes half-closed despite himself, the purr starting before he could stop it.

  "Her Majesty won't like this," Whiskers managed, fighting against the pleasure. "Don't think you can bribe me."

  "Tell Her Majesty we'll pay her a visit later."

  The cat was silent for a moment, tail swishing back and forth. Then he let out a long, resigned meow.

  "Fine. But don't take too long. You know how she is."

  "I do."

  Whiskers pulled away from Mark's hand, dignity somewhat recovered. He looked at the other cats, still being lavished with attention by Maggie.

  "We're leaving," he announced.

  The grey tabby looked up from Maggie's lap, clearly reluctant. The orange one had gone still against her leg. It wasn't sleeping anymore—it was watching Maggie's face with an intensity that felt almost searching.

  "Now," Whiskers added, with the authority of someone used to being ignored.

  Slowly, reluctantly, the cats extracted themselves from Maggie and padded after their leader. The orange one was the last to go, pausing at the corner to look back at her—not mournfully, but with something that looked almost like recognition. Like it was memorizing her.

  Maggie stood up, brushing cat hair off her dress.

  "Who's Her Majesty?" she asked as Mark walked back toward her.

  "Later." He stopped in front of her, his expression still carrying that edge of irritation. "What did you want to say?"

  "Just—that fight was amazing." Maggie gestured vaguely at where the monster had been. "The spears, the way you moved, all of it. I've never seen anything like that."

  Mark grunted. The compliment didn't seem to improve his mood.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "And what's 'shishou'? The kid kept saying it."

  "It means master in Japanese." Mark's jaw tightened. "It also means he's a fucking weeb."

  "A what?"

  Before Mark could answer, a voice piped up from behind them.

  "I am not a weeb!" The kid had apparently decided that 'don't say anything' had an expiration date. He marched toward them—though 'marched' was generous; his legs were still shaking. "I am an otaku! There's a difference!"

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  Mark pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "This is clearly an isekai scenario," the kid continued, gesturing dramatically. "I've been transported to another world! And you—" he pointed at Mark, "—are obviously the master figure who will train me in the ways of this realm!"

  "That's not—"

  "I must admit, I expected a beautiful goddess to greet me upon my arrival. Perhaps bestow upon me a legendary skill or sacred weapon." He looked Mark up and down, considering. "But a mysterious dark figure works too. Very seinen. Very cool."

  Mark's eye twitched.

  Maggie stepped forward, trying to defuse the situation. "Hey, uh, I'm Maggie. I'm new here too—well, newer than Mark anyway. This place is called the Dreamscape, and—"

  "Did I ask you?" The kid's eyes stayed fixed on Mark—deliberately, like looking at Maggie would cost him something. "I'm talking to Shishou."

  Maggie blinked. "Excuse me?"

  "Background characters shouldn't interrupt important conversations." He said it like a line he'd rehearsed. It came out too fast.

  The temperature around Maggie seemed to drop several degrees. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

  "I'm trying to help you," she said, keeping her voice level with visible effort. "This isn't a game or whatever you think it is. This place is dangerous. I almost died like ten minutes ago."

  The kid finally looked at her. His lip curled—but his eyes flicked away almost immediately, like he couldn't hold the pose.

  "Let me guess—you're the love interest? The childhood friend who never had a chance?" He snorted. "Typical. Every isekai has some—" a half-second hesitation, "—thirsty bitch throwing herself at the protagonist."

  Maggie's fist connected with his face before she consciously decided to throw the punch.

  The kid went down hard, sprawling across the flagstones with a yelp of pain. His hands flew to his nose, blood already seeping between his fingers.

  "Maggie," Mark said mildly, "you probably shouldn't have done that."

  "He called me a—"

  "I know what he called you. I'm just saying—" he glanced at the kid on the ground, "—he had no idea what he was getting into."

  Maggie stood over the kid, breathing hard. The anger was already fading, replaced by a creeping sense of guilt. He was just a kid. A stupid, annoying, apparently sexist kid, but still a kid.

  "Shit." She crouched down, reaching toward him. "Hey, I'm sorry, let me—"

  The kid scrambled backward, eyes wide with genuine terror. All the dramatic bravado had vanished. He looked like exactly what he was—a scared teenager who'd just been punched by someone much stronger than him.

  "Stay away from me!" His voice cracked. "You—you gorilla!"

  Maggie froze. "Did you just call me a gorilla?"

  "Gori! You're a gori!" He kept backing away, one hand still clutching his bleeding nose. "What kind of woman punches someone like that?!"

  "The kind who gets called a thirsty bitch!"

  Mark stepped between them, hands raised. "Alright, both of you, calm down."

  "She hit me!"

  "He called me—"

  "I heard what he called you. I also saw you break his nose." Mark looked at the kid. "What's your name?"

  The kid sniffled, blood still dripping. "J-Jayden."

  Mark paused. His expression flickered. And then—completely unexpectedly—he laughed.

  "Of course it is." He shook his head, still chuckling. "Jayden. Let me guess—you were born somewhere between 2005 and 2015?"

  "2011," Jayden mumbled. "Why?"

  "No reason. Just—Jayden, Brayden, Kayden, Hayden. Your generation really loved the '-aden' names." Mark was still smiling. "What's your middle name? Aiden?"

  Jayden's face went red. "...Maybe."

  Maggie snorted despite herself. The absurdity of it—standing in a grey dreamworld, covered in cat hair, watching Mark mock a bleeding teenager's name—broke through her lingering anger.

  Jayden's eyes welled up with tears.

  "You're—you're bullying me!" His voice wobbled. "Both of you! This isn't how it's supposed to go! You're supposed to welcome me and train me and—" He broke off into genuine sobs, all pretense of the dramatic persona completely shattered.

  Mark's laughter faded. He exchanged a glance with Maggie.

  "Alright, alright. I'm sorry. That was mean."

  "We're sorry," Maggie added, though she was still fighting down a smile. "Really."

  Jayden sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve and smearing blood across his face. He looked utterly pathetic.

  Mark sighed. "Okay. Listen, Jayden. What Maggie said is true. You're not in an isekai."

  He glanced at Maggie. "Isekai is another Japanese word. It means 'another world,' but it's used as a genre for stories where someone gets transported from one world to another." He turned back to Jayden. "So he's not completely wrong about the concept. But normally in those stories, the protagonist gains some kind of special power."

  He paused, letting that sink in.

  "And you definitely don't have one."

  Jayden's face fell. "But—but you're so strong. You can teach me! I saw what you did with those spears, and the way you walked on air, and—"

  "I can teach you the basics," Mark interrupted. "But even that will probably be hard for you. You don't have the right temperament for this. You're too..." He searched for the word. "Unstable. You manifested a nightmare strong enough to nearly kill you within minutes of arriving. That's not a good sign."

  "But—"

  "It doesn't matter right now anyway. You need to wake up." Mark's expression hardened. "You're in a coma, Jayden. Your body is lying somewhere in the real world, and if you don't go back, you'll die. This isn't a game. This isn't an adventure. You need to figure out why you're stuck here and fix it."

  Jayden's mouth opened, bravado cracking. Something vulnerable surfaced underneath.

  "Why are you here?" Mark pressed. "And don't bullshit me saying you don't remember. You don't have any signs of amnesia."

  Jayden's expression shifted. Something closed off behind his eyes.

  "I got hit by a truck," he said, his voice taking on that theatrical quality again. "Truck-kun claimed my life, and now I've been reborn in this world to—"

  "There aren't any roads near here that could fit a truck." Mark's tone was flat. "Try again."

  Jayden's mouth opened. Closed. His eyes darted away.

  The silence stretched.

  "We'll talk about it later," Mark said finally. "For now, there are things you need to know about this place. Rules."

  He stood up, brushing off his coat.

  "The most important one: don't invoke the names of gods or demons. Not casually, not as a joke, not as a curse. Names have power here. Say the wrong one, and you might summon something you really don't want to deal with."

  Jayden's eyes went wide. Not with fear—with something else. That unsettling brightness was back.

  "Gods and demons are real here?" His voice trembled with excitement. "Like actual divine beings? Supernatural entities?"

  "Yes. And they're dangerous. So don't—"

  "That's so cool." Jayden scrambled to his feet, bloody nose apparently forgotten. "That means you must be incredibly powerful to survive here! You're like a demon lord yourself!" His eyes raked over Mark—the coat, the glasses, the cold demeanor. "Actually... maybe you ARE a demon."

  "I'm not a—"

  "That would explain everything!" Jayden was pacing now, gesturing wildly. "The dark aesthetic, the mysterious powers, the way you appeared out of nowhere to save me! You're obviously some kind of ancient evil who's grown bored of villainy and now seeks to train a worthy successor!"

  "That's not—"

  "Maybe you're the Devil himself!"

  The words hung in the air.

  Mark's face went pale.

  "No, you fucking moron—"

  But it was too late.

  The air behind Jayden split open.

  It started as a crack—a thin line of red light that appeared from nothing, hovering a few feet off the ground. Then it widened, tearing open like a wound in reality. Crimson mist poured out, pooling around their feet, carrying with it a smell of sulfur and something older. Something that made the rot-and-ammonia stench of Jayden's nightmare seem pleasant by comparison.

  "Fuck," Mark said quietly.

  Maggie grabbed Jayden's arm and yanked him behind her, positioning herself between him and the portal. Her heart was hammering. Whatever was coming through that thing, she'd face it. She'd learned from last time—no charging in blindly. Stay defensive. Protect the kid.

  Even if the kid was an asshole.

  The portal pulsed. The mist thickened.

  And then a figure stepped through.

  He was stunning. That was the first thing Maggie noticed—an almost painful perfection, the kind that hurt to look at directly. Tall, pale, with features that seemed carved from marble. Dark hair fell past his shoulders. His eyes were the color of dying embers.

  But it was the wings that made her breath catch.

  They unfurled from his back as he emerged fully from the portal—massive, black-feathered things that seemed to drink in the grey light of the Dreamscape. They were damaged somehow. Broken. Feathers missing in patches, the bones beneath bent at wrong angles.

  He looked like a painting. Like the fallen angel from some Renaissance masterpiece, frozen in the moment of his descent.

  The figure's ember eyes swept the plaza, taking in the scene—Maggie in her fighting stance, Jayden cowering behind her, Locke with his hackles raised.

  Then his gaze settled on Mark.

  And he smiled.

  "Hello, Mark."