CHAPTER 4: TREMBLE, MORTALS—THE GOAT IS HERE
Walking through the streets, Zeke feasted his eyes on the city's chaotic blend of old and new. Towering glass buildings loomed over crumbling stone structures, their surfaces etched with glowing runes pulsing like neon veins. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, spices.
Hover cars.
Sikes.
Hover cars in a world where dungeons pop up randomly would be crazy.
People bustled past, some in modern streetwear, others in fantasy armor.. Fast-moving cars, sleek and painted in vibrant colors, roared past, their engines humming with gasoline and mana.
He reached Starlit Bites, the restaurant with the highest rating in his part of town. Its exterior blended polished wood and glowing crystal panels, the sign's letters shimmering like starlight. Inside, the air was warm, thick with roasted herbs, fresh bread, and sizzling meat. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses mingled with the soft chime of cutlery.
Speaking of rating, what does the rating on the system do?
Zeke thought, stepping inside, the warmth wrapping around him like a blanket.
[I don't know. It's what's written there. Rate the system.] Zero's voice nonchalant.
That's underwhelming. Rate it five stars—I did become immortal
Zeke thought.
[RATED THE SYSTEM. RECEIVED MYTHICAL SKILL: ONE HIT TO CHANGE THE FACE]
The interface exploded with golden light.
"What does this do?" Zeke muttered, stepping further inside, boots thudding on the wooden floor, the scent of spiced wine mingling with fresh pastries.
[Snicker. It basically makes you the best plastic surgeon in the world. With one hit, you can change a person's face however you like, but with presets—like sharpening the nose, slimming cheeks. You don't just give them new faces.] Zero's voice gleefull.
"Really? Kinda dope. I can see myself using it," Zeke said, grey eyes glinting with mischief.
[Literally, you can now bring the phrase 'slap you so hard your mama won't recognize you' to life.] Zero cackled, jittering with excitement.
"Hahaha," Zeke laughed, the sound sharp and infectious, bouncing off the wooden beams. The warmth of the room amplified his voice, drawing more glances.
"Ahem, what would I get you, sir?" a waiter asked, cutting through Zeke's laughter. The lanky young man wore a slightly stained apron, his hair in a messy bun, holding a glowing tablet with a flickering menu.
"Huh?" Zeke blinked, laughter fading as he realized he'd zoned out, the restaurant's hum quieting into a soft buzz. The air felt thick with embarrassment, crystal panels pulsing as if chuckling.
Scratching his silver-streaked hair, he flashed an apologetic grin, grey eyes glinting with amusement. "Ha ha, emm, I would like a table and a menu so I would know what to order."
"Right this way," the waiter said, leading him through the bustling restaurant, boots clicking on the wooden floor, past couples sharing intimate conversations and business meetings over expensive wine.
He sat Zeke at a small, polished wooden table near the window, behind three teenagers—17 to 20—wearing vibrant jerseys (red, blue, green) with glowing team logos. Their voices were loud, animated, discussing a match, the air around them smelling of sweat, cheap cologne, and the restaurant's richer scents.
What match?
Zeke wondered, leaning back in his chair, the wood creaking, grey eyes scanning them with curiosity and apathy.
"So, yeah, give me these ones here," he said, pointing at the glowing tablet, his finger tapping with a soft chime.
"Okay, sir," the waiter nodded, tapping the tablet, the order flashing before dimming.
Within three minutes, the dishes arrived on polished wooden trays, steaming with heat, aromas hitting like a wave—savory, rich, with an otherworldly tang. Zeke tore into the steak, its juices warm on his tongue, the stew's spices tingling his throat, the dessert melting like liquid starlight, sweet and faintly electric.
He ate with enthusiasm, fork clinking against plates, the sounds blending with the restaurant's hum.
'Pains me that a certain someone can't taste these delicacies' he said to Zero, licking sauce off his thumb, grey eyes glinting.
[Your dad?] Zero's voice sly
'Haha, you,' Zeke shot back, giving that awkward laugh when you know the joke didn't hit.
But the joke did hit, he's just spiteful.
[No need to worry, son. I'm happy as long as you eat.] Zero shot back.
'Bastard,' Zeke thought, chuckling as he leaned back, the chair creaking, crystal lights casting shadows across his silver-streaked hair.
Munching on the last piece of crispy, smoky chicken, Zeke heard loud laughter from the boys. As an ADHD-having guy, he turned, interested. One boy, with a glowing, scuffed leather ball, tried juggling it but failed, sending it arcing into a bowl of soup. Creamy broth splashed, droplets catching the light like tiny prisms, staining the jersey of one of the other boys, and as good friends do, the squad laughed at his misfortune.
Classic male friend group.
Should I?
Zeke thought, grey eyes glinting, leaning forward, elbows on the warm table.
[You have nothing to lose. Be more confident.] Zero's voice was encouraging, like a coach's pep talk.
OK, here we go, Zeke thought, pushing up from his chair, the wood scraping softly. His heart thudded with the thrill of spontaneity.
[Easy there, Fabrizio.] Zero teased.
Pfft—he almost tripped as he chuckled at the, catching himself with immortal grace, silver-streaked hair bouncing.
"Hey, I was wondering if you guys were going to a field or somewhere to play ball. I would love to play. Name's Zeke," he said, voice smooth and confident, grey eyes scanning the group.
"You ball?" asked the ginger-haired boy, his red jersey with a glowing dragon logo crinkling, his mullet a chaotic mess, he was white, not that it mattered.
The group included another white guy with short, unremarkable black hair, Radom NPC hairstyle, in a plain blue jersey with a glowing wolf logo, the other guy…. Asian.
Didn't see that coming,
"I ball, but it's been a while. Saw a football and I couldn't hold back," he said, grin widening, grey eyes sparkling with excitement.
Although he had lost his memories, his core personality was retained, and it seems to carry a passion for football.
"Cool, we were headed to our normal hangout where we play ball. You could join," the Asian boy said, voice calm but friendly.
"But we have to finish our food," the ginger said, wiping soup off his jersey.
"Cool, I'll wait by my table just behind you," Zeke said, turning, boots thudding softly.
Pivoting smoothly, his jacket swishing, he faced them again, grey eyes glinting. "Hey, I didn't catch your names. Can't call you football-playing youths."
"I'm Kai," the Asian boy said, a faint smile on his lips.
No racism, but you can't tell them apart, they all look the same, I don't wanna call him Chinese and he's Korean.
Just kidding, he's definitely Japanese. Why else would he like football? Blue Lock fever.
"I'm Jude," said the boy with the generic NPC hair, voice flat, brown eyes flicking to his food, generic name for a generic NPC.
"Aaron," the ginger said, mullet bouncing, green eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Okay," Zeke nodded, sliding into his seat.
[Socializing, cool.] Zero's voice mocking Zeke's repeated use of "cool," the word drawn out with a sarcastic lilt.
Zeke rolled his eyes, grey eyes glinting with mock annoyance