Chapter Text
Thump thump, Thump thump…
A rhythmic dance he was used to. The routine of his everyday work settled in as the lamps passed by in the night. The calm ambiance of this city of lights flashed before his eyes as he arrived at his final stop—the depot. After filing away the number of his locomotive on the computer and saying a few goodbyes to the remaining colleagues working during the night, he took off in his car and returned home.
A modest three-story apartment building greeted him, tucked away in a quiet residential district. The place wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean, and it belonged to him thanks to his parents’ help. While his job was paying well, there was no way he could access property in the suburbs of Paris this early in his life.
Good enough for a 26-year-old man who failed to find someone to live his life with.
He sighed as he climbed the stairs.
Not like I’ve had time for much else anyway.
One year.
One year exactly. It had been one year since David Lebon returned from the fantasy world of Monster Girl Quest to his old life. Something not many people knew about, since he only talked about it to his best friend, whom he couldn’t see much as of late.
A bittersweet ache tugged at his chest. He genuinely missed the eclectic, bizarre companions he had met across the continent of Sentora. Yet, a profound sense of relief always followed. He was alive. He was home with his family. He hadn’t been dissolved, devoured, or worse—fates he knew were entirely possible after witnessing the horrific, alternate-timeline visions embedded in the disc the Goddess Ilias had given him.
So many gruesome deaths had been avoided solely because of her.
Click
David turned the key, pushed open the door, and instinctively flicked the light switch. His heavy work bag dropped against the entryway wall with a dull thud…
And then froze.
"What kind of self-respecting human being doesn't keep coffee in his house?! Especially one who works this late! It’s a civil rights violation!"
The indignant, booming complaint shattered the late-night silence, loud enough to set off the neighborhood dogs. Standing in David’s meticulously tidy apartment were two men dressed in impeccably tailored, razor-sharp black suits. They looked like they had stepped straight out of a high-budget espionage thriller.
One agent was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, glaring at the empty cupboards in dismay. The other, an older gentleman with a neat mane of silver hair and sharp, intensely intelligent eyes, was casually lounging on David’s sofa, nonchalantly flipping through a paperback thriller he’d plucked from the bookshelf.
David’s brain completely short-circuited. For three agonizing seconds, his cognitive functions stalled. Then, the hard-wired survival instincts of a man who had dodged death in another world kicked in. He subtly shifted his weight, taking a calculated step backward toward the open hallway.
“Don’t even think about running,” the man at the counter said without looking up. His voice was smooth, almost lazy, as he reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and an elegant black lighter adorned with a cross.“Mind if I smoke here?”
“Open a damn window first,” his colleague replied without lifting his eyes from the book, waving a dismissive hand. “Your tobacco smells like horse shit. Where do you even buy that garbage?”
David stood paralyzed in his own doorway, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. How had they bypassed his deadbolts? Who were they?
The silver-haired man finally snapped the book shut with a soft, definitive clack. He rose from the sofa, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, and offered David a polite, chillingly professional smile.
"David Lebon, correct? The very same conductor who mysteriously vanished into thin air for two months alongside an entire multi-ton locomotive near Paris… only to reappear in the middle of a defunct track with the exact same engine heavily, inexplicably modified with technology that shouldn't exist?”
David’s mouth went bone-dry. He squared his shoulders, tensing his muscles. "...May I ask who the hell you are?"
The man at the counter lit his cigarette anyway, cracking the window open with his free hand. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke that carried a heavy, almost nostalgic scent—oddly similar to the cigarillos of one peculiar colleague from his time as a trainee.
"We represent an agency that has spent the last 365 days monitoring your every move," the smoker replied casually, flicking ash out into the cool night air. "Ever since you returned from your little unscheduled, extra-dimensional vacation."
“Hold on… How much do you know about what happened?”
David’s eyes narrowed. "How much do you actually know?"
"Not enough," the older man grunted, stepping forward. "At least, not until tonight."
“Heard the news lately?” the smoker asked.
“I’m not the type to watch the news, no,” David smiled apologetically. “Did something happen?”
"An earthquake. Magnitude 5.2 on the Richter scale. Striking the exact, geographically precise coordinates where your locomotive re-materialized a year ago."
The two agents exchanged a brief, heavy glance. The silver-haired man took a step closer, his voice dropping an octave. "Does that ring any bells, Mr. Lebon?"
David’s eyes hardened. “Can you just get to the point?”
"Well..." The smoker massaged his temples, pinching the bridge of his nose as if a monumental headache were blooming behind his eyes. "Let’s just say your dream of living a quiet, boring civilian life is officially dead. Normally, our organization handles these anomalies with extreme discretion…. But this time, the circumstances are... profoundly uncooperative."
"It has become entirely impossible to cover up," the older man sighed, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. "Which is why we’re breaking protocol. We need your help. You are the only individual on this side of reality with genuine, first-hand experience dealing with these... people.”
“People…” David’s eyes widened as realization struck like a lightning bolt. “Wait, you mean—!”
A heavy silence fell over the apartment.
The smoker took one final drag of his cigarette, his casual smirk completely vanishing. "Yeah. They’ve started crossing over. We managed to establish a temporary perimeter and attempted to negotiate a containment treaty to keep them on their side of the threshold. But it turns out, they aren't particularly receptive to modern diplomacy."
"Mainly because our diplomats ended up enamoured with them for some reason… Now they refuse to work. Some even quit their jobs.”
David felt the blood drain from his face. The peaceful life he had fought so desperately to reclaim was crumbling right in front of him. But at the same time, it meant that maybe… just maybe…
They’re here…
“Bring me to them, perhaps I can do something—”
"No need to travel! The express service has arrived~!"
A cheerful, blindingly energetic voice sliced through the tension. Without a shred of warning, a shimmering, violet tear ripped open in the exact center of David’s living room. The spatial distortion crackled with raw, cosmic energy, manifesting directly above his coffee table.
CRACK!
The localized gravitational warp instantly sheared the solid wood table perfectly in half, sending magazines and a decorative coaster flying.
"MY TABLE! THAT WAS AN AUTHENTIC IKEA TABLE!” David shrieked, his soul momentarily leaving his body at the sudden property damage.
From the swirling, neon-violet vortex stepped a profoundly familiar, deeply infuriating figure. She was clad in pristine, elegant white garments, a tiny top hat perched jauntily at an angle between her long, snow-white rabbit ears. A golden chain swung like a pendulum from her waist, carrying an ornate, ticking pocket watch. She struck a wildly theatrical, magical-girl pose, her bright red eyes gleaming with unadulterated mischief.
“Ta~Da! It’s me! Missed me? I know, I know, last time the entire universe got completely erased to the bedrock because of a super-duper mean administrator, but we are back, baby! Oh, but no Subka this time, sorry to disappoint~!"
David stared at her, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated deadpan. What in the absolute hell is this idiot babbling about? He could practically feel his sanity evaporating in the presence of this tireless harbinger of chaos.
The two government agents reacted with textbook, hyper-trained precision. The smoker’s hand blurred, diving into his jacket for a concealed firearm, while the silver-haired man violently recoiled backward, his hand reaching for a tactical device on his belt.
"What the—hostile entity!" the smoker yelled.
The White Rabbit tilted her head, her long ears flopping forward in an aggressively cute display of mock-innocence. She looked at the two armed men in expensive suits, then at David’s devastated face, and clapped her hands. "Eh? Who are these stiff-looking corporate types? Bodyguards? Low-level mob enforcers? Debt collectors? Are you hiding from the loan sharks, little Davy~?"
"Only one person in the entire multiverse is allowed to call me that, and you are not her," David pouted, crossing his arms.
"Never mind! I’ll just call you 'The Guy Who Masturbates to His Own Bad Ends' from now on!"
David’s face instantly erupted into a fiery, crimson blush that reached the tips of his ears. "PLEASE DO NOT COIN THAT AS A NICKNAME! AND MORE IMPORTANTLY—HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW ABOUT THAT?!
The White Rabbit giggled mischievously, covering her mouth with one hand while her ears flapped happily. “Ahah~ A little bird told me! Or maybe it was a goddess. Or a disc. Who knows?”
The two government agents stood completely paralyzed, their tactical training entirely useless against the sheer absurdity unfolding before them. The smoker’s hand hovered awkwardly near his holster, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lip, while the older, silver-haired agent looked like he was fundamentally re-evaluating every life choice that had led him to this exact career path.
"Anyway..." The White Rabbit clapped her hands together with a sharp pop, turning her beaming, chaotic gaze back to David. "How about you hop on in for a world of beautiful, low-budget, potentially without narrative new adventures~? Or one might say… Another Sidequest?”
She gestured toward the swirling vortex of cosmic doom as if it were the entrance to the Parc Astérix rather than a gaping wound in the space-time continuum.
"Hold it right there!" the smoker barked, finally drawing a suppressed pistol and aiming it at the rabbit. "He is an asset to national security! He isn't going anywhere with… whatever you are!
The White Rabbit wagged a finger playfully, making a clicking sound with her tongue. "Oh, structural irony! Why not? You boys were literally about to drive him to the exact same destination anyway, weren't you? I'm just saving you on gas money! In this economy? You should be thanking me!"
"Also..." The silver-haired man muttered, completely ignoring the cosmic portal as he stared blankly at David. "What was that part about... masturbating to bad ends? Boy, are you…?”
"I beg of you, as a fellow human being, do not file that into official government records," David groaned, burying his burning face in his hands.
"Plot needs to advance! No time for bureaucratic exposition, the pacing is already suffering! Let’s warp!" the White Rabbit cheered.
"Wait! I haven’t even showered! I smell bad and I have grease stains and—!”
Before David could finish his desperate plea for basic hygiene, the White Rabbit lunged forward with terrifying, supernatural speed. Her tiny hands clamped onto David’s forearm with the crushing strength of a hydraulic press. With her other hand, she reached out like a cartoon character, snagging the collars of both the smoker and the silver-haired agent in a single, fluid motion.
"Group discount!" she yelled.
With a violent yank, she dragged all three men screaming into the swirling vortex.
David felt his internal organs perform a dizzying, three-dimensional gymnastics routine. His sense of up, down, time, and space blended into a nauseating slurry of violet light.
Thud.
The crushing sensation of gravity suddenly slammed back into existence. David’s sneakers hit a solid, unforgiving surface, and he instantly dropped to his knees, dry-heaving.
Beside him, the silver-haired agent collapsed gracefully onto one knee, quickly adjusting his tie despite looking incredibly pale. The smoker, however, faceplanted directly onto the floor, his pristine suit jacket instantly covered in a layer of fine dust. He pushed himself up on one elbow, his cigarette long gone, his face a distinct shade of chartreuse.
"I… I want to puke…" the smoker wheezed, clutching his stomach. “What… the fuck…”
"Did we teleport?” The silver-haired man grunted, though his own legs were visibly trembling like structural jelly. He blinked, wiping a layer of grit from his eyes, and looked around. "Where the hell... are we?"
David managed to look up, wiping a cold sweat from his forehead. The air didn't smell like his apartment. It didn't smell like Paris. It smelled like stone and candles, and a certain music was playing in his ears.
“What the hell?”
They were standing inside a familiar-looking place for David: a gigantic castle housing numerous creatures known as Monster Girls…
The one and only…
“This is the Pocket Castle!!”