𝙂𝙧𝙞𝙩 & 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚| 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

It wasn't the clinking of glasses or the chatter of the patrons that brought you back to reality. It was the question you couldn't shake—the one that had been gnawing at you ever since Boothill had left the bar the previous evening. What am I?
You had always known you were an NPC, a programmed entity designed to serve drinks and fill the role of the bartender. You had no backstory, no arc, no real depth beyond the function you were built to fulfill.
Yet lately, you couldn't ignore the thoughts creeping into your mind—the fragments of something more. Something that seemed to echo through you when you looked at Boothill or when you caught a flicker of something in your reflection.
Could you truly just be an NPC? Was that all there was?
The door to the bar opened again, bringing you out of your spiraling thoughts. A new customer stepped in, someone you hadn't seen before. He was tall, with dark black hair and a jade scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His eyes were sharp, but there was a softness to him—an air of mystery, like he carried a thousand secrets but chose to keep them hidden.
"Good evening," he greeted smoothly, his voice like honey, as his gaze flickered over to you. "I'll have a glass of your finest wine."
You gave him a quick, polite smile, moving to fetch the bottle. As you did, a thought crossed your mind: I've never actually thought about what I wanted to do. What if... I could choose?
"Coming right up," you said, trying to shake the intrusive thought and focusing on the task at hand. When you placed the wine before him, he examined you carefully.
"I've been told this is a good place for a quiet drink," he remarked, taking a sip, then setting the glass back down. His eyes were locked on you now, intense, as if trying to figure out some puzzle he'd come across. "I'm... curious. You're different."
You froze, feeling a rush of unease flood through you. How did he know? But you didn't let the panic show. Instead, you kept your composure, focusing on your usual duties.
"I get that a lot," you replied, your voice more clipped than usual, the words coming out almost mechanically. Why did it feel like the walls were closing in?
Before the man could press further, the door swung open once again. This time, a small group entered—two women and a man, all with distinct auras, as if they didn't quite belong to the same world you did. The man was wearing a long trench coat, and the women each had weapons by their sides. One of the women had short pink hair and an almost ethereal beauty, while the other had long, fiery red locks and an intense, fierce presence.
The Black-haired man turned to them, nodding as if he knew them well. They all exchanged brief pleasantries, but their attention quickly shifted to you. The blue-haired woman took a few steps toward the bar, her gaze curious, almost like she could see through you.
"You're the bartender here, right?" the pink-haired girl asked, her voice high, almost annoying. "I've been hearing a lot about you, the self-aware NPC!" you almost felt insulted...
Your pulse quickened. You hadn't told anyone—had you? You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your face neutral. "That's... that's me."
The red-haired woman, standing with her arms crossed, eyed you carefully. "And what are you planning to do with all this self-awareness?" she asked, her tone blunt. "Are you going to leave this place? Go find a new purpose?"
The question hit you like a punch to the gut. It was the same question you had been asking yourself since that first night with Boothill, the one that had left you restless and uncertain. What was your purpose? Could you really just stay here, repeating the same motions day after day, or was there something more waiting for you outside these walls?
The Brown-haired man, noticing the tension building, smoothly interjected. "Let her breathe, March," he said, his voice calm and smooth, but with an undercurrent of authority. "She's clearly still figuring things out."
March—presumably the loud pink-haired woman—tilted her head, clearly intrigued. "You know, we don't usually give people the space to figure things out in peace. But you... You're different. I can feel it." She seemed to be talking to herself more than anyone else, her voice excited as she eyed you with a new understanding.
The man in the trench coat, who had been silently observing until now, finally spoke. "The universe has a way of bringing people together. Sometimes, the most unexpected things happen when you least expect them."
You looked at him, unsure of how to respond. His words were vague, but there was something comforting about the way he said them, as though he knew more about you than you did yourself. It was the first time anyone had addressed you this way—the first time someone had looked at you and treated you like you could be something more than just a bartender.
"What's your name?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.
The man smiled, his expression unreadable. "I'm Welt," he replied, his voice carrying a quiet weight. "And these are my companions, March 7th and Himeko."
You offered a small, polite nod in return, your thoughts swirling as you tried to absorb all the new information. Welt, March, Himeko, Dan Heng... Were they connected to Boothill in some way? Or were they just... travelers, like so many others who passed through?
The moment of contemplation was broken by the chime of the door opening once more. This time, it was none other than Boothill himself, his boots heavy against the floor as he strode in, a weary look in his eyes. When he saw you at the counter, a flicker of something—something familiar—passed between you.
You quickly turned away, suddenly self-conscious, unsure of how to act in front of these new strangers. They were all so different from anyone you had ever met, each carrying an air of mystery that made your head spin.
Boothill made his way to the bar and paused, his eyes scanning the room. He caught sight of you, and the brief, almost imperceptible tension between you two seemed to linger in the air.
He looked back at the newcomers, his usual stoic expression back in place. "What's going on here?" he asked, his voice as gruff as always.
March raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Nothing much. Just getting to know your bartender."
Boothill's gaze flicked to you. For a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes—a trace of recognition, maybe even understanding. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by his usual cold exterior.
"I'll have the usual," he said, taking a seat at the bar, his back to the others.
You nodded, moving to prepare his drink, though your mind was elsewhere, trying to make sense of everything. Who were these people? And more importantly... who were you?