Protagonist! Please Stay Away from Me 2!-Chapter 25: Why Do Quick Transmigrators Exist?

The grand living room of Ruby’s mansion enveloped us in shadowed luxury, where crystal chandeliers dangled like frozen constellations overhead, casting a warm, golden haze. A massive marble fireplace crackled softly, its flames dancing across velvet drapes and antique Persian rugs that muffled every sound.

The TV in front had already been turned off. I have no interest in watching puppeteering on it.

I lounged on the plush leather couch, its cushions sinking beneath me like a throne of indulgence, bouncing a weathered rubber ball against the polished mahogany coffee table—thud, thud, thud—in a rhythm that cut through the room’s heavy silence.

"I want to create chaos in this world," I said, my voice low and laced with delight. "Do you understand me, Ruby?"

Ruby stood before the fireplace, her silhouette sharp against the flickering light. She was a vision of calculated elegance: porcelain skin glowing faintly in the firelight, crimson lips curved in unwavering loyalty, her emerald eyes gleaming with the otherworldly fire of a witch unbound. She nodded once, deliberate and precise. "As you wish, Sharon."

I caught the ball mid-bounce, squeezing it until the rubber creaked under my grip. A slow smile spread across my face—predatory, unyielding. "I want it to be perfect, Ruby. No half-measures. No mercy."

She tilted her head, hair cascading like wine over one shoulder. Her voice was silk over steel, probing yet obedient. "I understand, but what is your plan, honey? Chaos is an art form, but it demands a canvas and a brush."

The ball slipped from my fingers, rolling lazily across the rug to her heeled feet. I shifted on the couch, leaning forward with elbows on knees. I smirked, "You’ll understand me completely if you answer this one question very clearly," I murmured, locking eyes with her across the room. "Why did you choose this world?"

Ruby’s eyes met mine, unflinching, a spark of amusement flickering in their depths.

She replied, "Because this world is undisturbed by The Bureau. A peaceful world, where everything is going according to them. For them, it’s a normal world. And for me? A perfect place to hide."

I clapped my hands twice in a repeated pattern.

Ruby tilted her head in confusion. "What are you doing?" she asked me.

"I am simply clapping for you. If you are saying that The Bureau has given us enough freedom for us to have our own thoughts until the world’s trajectory is affected, I will disagree with that," I replied.

I caught the ball with my left hand and began pressing it repeatedly. Someone had told me once that it’s a good method to release stress.

"Why? Sharon, that’s what we were taught by them." Ruby’s confusion increased.

A scoff escaped my lips. "That’s what you think, Ruby. But I think it’s the world that revolves around the protagonist which controls the degree of effect. The protagonist’s actions decide whether you are changing the course of the world or not," I clarified.

"You are saying that the protagonist is responsible? I don’t understand."

"I will explain you. Think the protagonist as the system, and the whole world as the surroundings. Now, if the system interacts with the surrounding, it would be okay. Compared to the system, the surroundings’ huge. Borderline infinite. But what if we exchanged their identities?"

The words hung heavy, reshaping reality in my mind. Suddenly, the protagonist wasn’t a fragile spark anymore; it ballooned into infinity, the "system-slash-surroundings" now an all-consuming expanse if changed accordingly. Surroundings-slash-system shrank to specks—cities, fates, gods—mere playthings crushed under its boundless weight. No more tentative nudges at reality’s veil.

I nodded, "Now, you understood. Let me ask you another question, Ruby. Why do quick transmigrators exist?"

Ruby looked at me for some seconds before answering my question. "The Bureau wants it," she replied.

"Yes, I know that. But why?"

She took a minute before replying. "Because they want control over the things that can’t be controlled," she said.

"Bingo! Quick transmigrators exist because they want control. The Bureau wants things to go according to them—that includes the protagonist. If a protagonist rebels, they send the quick transmigrators, right?"

"Yes."

"So, there you have it. For the protagonist, we act as puppets—for the quick transmigrators, the protagonists act as the puppets—and for The Bureau, the quick transmigrators act as puppets. It’s a chain of command. And people like you also fall in this. You were also a puppet." I unscrewed the cap of the bottle before drinking the water inside it.

Within a few seconds, I gulped down the entire contents of it. Placing the bottle on the table, I took a deep breath. Explaining all these things had drained me. But I needed to finish this.

The cool water settled heavily in my stomach, chasing away the dryness that had built up from continuous talking.

The bottle—plain plastic, slightly fogged from the chill—sat there like a conquered foe, a few droplets beading on its rim and trickling down the side. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting the faint mineral tang lingering on my lips.

I reached for the bottle beside the empty one, twisting off the cap for one more sip—slower this time, savouring the refreshment as it slid down, cool and clean.

"How much more water do you need?" Ruby asked in a joking manner. "Even after sex, you never drank this much water, considering the amount of water that you had lost."

I placed the bottle on the table, giving her a small smile. "Do you want to be punished?"

"What punishment?" Ruby’s voice cracked, her wide eyes locking onto mine.

"The punishment which will forbid you from touching me." My words sliced through the silence like a blade, deliberate and unyielding. I watched her closely, savouring the way her porcelain skin drained of colour, leaving her pale as moonlight.

She recoiled, hands trembling at her sides. "You can’t do this to me!" Protest laced her tone, but it crumbled into desperation, her breath hitching as memories of past indulgences—our tangled sheets, fevered whispers—flashed in her gaze.

I smirked, leaning forward until our shadows merged on the wall. "Then keep yourself relevant in the discussion. We can talk about sex later. Understood?" The command hung between us, laced with promise and peril, my fingers itching to trace the curve of her jaw but holding back.

"Yes," she whispered, submission etching lines of defeat across her face.

"Good girl." The praise rolled off my tongue like velvet, sealing her fate—for now.