Suko stood at the center of his own universe. The sky was starless, the void trembling as if it were alive. Kaneki stood silently behind him.
Kaneki:
"You've been strange lately… It's like you're not just watching the universe, but the story itself."
Suko laughed.
Suko:
"Because I'm not watching. I'm directing."
He took a step forward. In front of him, something like a massive curtain opened. Lines, paragraphs, words flowed through the air. Every written sentence was alive.
Suko:
"There it is… the author's stage."
He made a single motion, and the words froze.
In the real world, the author holding the pen stopped. His fingers became motionless. Time there was suspended.
Suko spoke while looking into the author's universe:
"You write the story, sure…
But how it's written, and where it goes—
that's decided by me."
He snapped his fingers.
The lines began to flow again, but their direction had changed. Sentences bent to Suko's will, scenes arranging themselves on their own.
Kaneki was stunned:
"So… the control is completely yours now?"
Suko shrugged.
Suko:
"It always was.
People are just noticing it now."
The sky reshaped itself, the universe fell back into rhythm. The author's world unraveled again—but the strings of the text were now in Suko's hands.
As Suko turned his back and walked away, he muttered:
"I don't write…
I choose what gets written."
The light went out.
The stage closed.