Zero The Fish in God's Glass Tank

Late at night. The room fell into absolute silence, save for the sickly yellow light of the desk lamp casting shadows over the cluttered wooden surface.

I—sin—sighed softly, running my hand over the mess of my own making. Laying on the desk was a mountain of work preparing for a long journey: thick stacks of character profiles, lore files branching out subplots for each side character, and above all, the scattered manuscript drafts of the core story arcs. I meticulously rearranged each sheet of paper, getting ready to put down the very first ink strokes to give birth to the world of my brainchild, Shin.

Click…

The doorknob turned slightly. That tiny sound should have startled me in the dead of night, but I merely let out a breath, my eyes never leaving the page.

A figure strolled in. No suffocating pressure, no brilliant aura; he appeared in a style completely out of sync with the serious atmosphere of someone preparing to write. He wore a vibrant navy blue button-down shirt patterned with tropical palm trees, casual shorts, and a pair of flip-flops clacking loosely against the floor. His hair, as pitch-black as dark ink, was styled into a sleek Leaf Cut, with loose bangs falling effortlessly on either side, draping softly along his sharp cheekbones and temples. The irregular, messy fringe only heightened his aura of mystery, making his faintly glowing, crimson eyes look like those of a wild predator, staring fixedly at me through the strands of hair in the dark.

Witnessing my disheveled state and messy hair at the desk, he laughed out clinics. Making himself right at home, he walked over, pulled up the chair right next to me, and plopped down. He casually propped his flip-flop-clad feet onto the desk, right next to the draft of the core plot system.

An indifferent action, completely defying the boundary between fiction and reality.

He glanced at the cluttered documents, speaking in a lazy, playful tone:

— "What kind of world are you cooking up here?"

I slightly adjusted my glasses, steadily stacking the character profiles into a corner, and calmly replied:

— "I'm preparing to write my own story, a world of my own."

His pale red eyes blinked slightly, the grin on his face widening as he heard the words "world of my own":

— "A world of your own? Sounds interesting, sin. Are you planning to let me in on it?"

I paused my pen, glanced at the man in the palm-tree shirt beside me, and shook my head firmly:

— "No thanks, you're better off just watching. This story isn't about you. I'll write about you later... maybe, or maybe not."

He smirked, tilting his head at me with the mischievousness of someone completely unbound by the logical rules of the page:

— "Come on, sin! Need me to co-author? If you run out of ideas, just let me ghostwrite it for you!"

I lightly nudged his flip-flop feet off the corner of my desk, seriously emphasizing every word:

— "No need. If you wrote it for me, it would turn into a completely different story. Your writing would change everything. So like I said, you’re best suited as an observer. I'll write your story some other time, or if you want, you can write it yourself, and I'll be the one observing you."

He shrugged, pulling his legs back and leaning against the chair, seemingly quite satisfied with the firm resolve of the person across from him:

— "Well, that actually sounds pretty good, sin. So... is that rebellious brainchild you're putting so much effort into writing already chained up?"

I stared at the name written on the first page of the profile stack, paused for a beat in silence, and replied:

— "I've chained him up. It's for the best."

He nodded slightly, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the desk. His glowing red eyes narrowed slightly as they swept over a faint name sitting at the top of the unreleased manuscript stack. He let out an implied exclamation:

— "This 'The Deus' fellow is actually pretty decent!"

The room fell back into the quiet space shared by two friends from two different worlds. One held macroeconomic destiny on draft papers, while the other was a meta-fictional entity wandering through mundane reality. The manuscript was ready. He turned slightly in his chair, staring aimlessly at the ceiling, and asked:

— "Are you planning to write any other stories?"

I set another character folder aside and answered flatly:

— "Of course, but that's for the future. Right now, I should focus on Shin first."

Hearing this, he instantly changed the subject. He grinned, leaning toward me with a highly "suggestive" demeanor:

— "When you write, make sure to add some ice cream parlors and food joints, okay? A restaurant would be even better."

He lowered his voice slightly, his faintly glowing red eyes showing the sheer mischief of someone ready to bend the rules:

— "If you don't, I'll write them in myself, sin!"

I looked at him, unable to help but shake my head with a wry smile:

— "There will be plenty, Kai!"

He burst out laughing, his bright laughter melting away the inherent chill of the night. I glanced at the clock on the desk, suddenly remembering something, and asked him back:

— "By the way, where is your friend Evelyn Vance? How do you even have time to drop by my place?"

He rested both hands behind his head, his posture completely relaxed and enjoying the moment:

— "Oh, she’s eating watermelon ice cream at a parlor somewhere in this story of yours!"

I waved him off, amused yet helpless:

— "You should head back. She's probably waiting for you."

Hearing that, he took his feet down and stood up from the chair beside me. He didn't leave immediately, but stood straight, meticulously smoothing out every crease on his palm-tree shirt, making sure the hem was perfectly flat and neat.

Witnessing his pickiness, I teased:

— "Being a bit too careful there, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow, replying casually as if it were a matter of course:

— "Huh? I'm always like this!"

He took a step back into the shadows of the doorway. But just as his hand touched the doorknob, Kai suddenly paused. His faintly glowing, crimson eyes flicked toward the antagonist profile hidden under the desk, his lips curving into a knowing smirk:

— "But hey, sin... If a story has two different protagonists, things are going to get pretty messy."

I frowned at his strange remark, but Kai quickly dropped his serious look. He raised his hand and waved goodbye:

— "Well, I'm off! Evelyn should be waiting by now, just like you said. Keep up the grinding, and remember what I said—if you get stuck, you've always got me!"

I picked up my pen, twisted the cap lightly, and replied decisively:

— "Goodbye, and let's not meet again!"

Kai merely chuckled at my bluntness. He turned around, his figure in the palm-tree shirt indifferently stepping out of the room before pulling the door half-shut, vanishing completely as if he had never been there.

The room instantly reverted to its absolute, innate silence.

I let out a breath, returning to the main task of the night. Having successfully kicked out that uninvited meta-fictional guest, I pulled my chair closer to the desk and flipped open the first blank page of the manuscript. Now that nothing could disturb me, I gripped the pen tightly in my hand, ready to let my imagination run wild across the first lines. The story of the King of the GEN-SYNDICATE GOLDEN REIGN ERA officially begins.

END OF CHAPTER 0