When I open my eyes, I find myself standing on an altar made of smooth, polished marble. The surface glimmers faintly in the light, reminiscent of the spawn points often seen in games. Surrounding me is a scene of intricate craftsmanship, the centerpiece of the altar is a large, elaborate carving of a dragon coiled protectively around a shield and sword, its fierce gaze almost lifelike.

Tall, white pillars stand resolute, forming a circle around the altar. Their tops are connected by a series of arching beams, creating a sense of enclosure despite the absence of a roof.

It looks like this place is situated in the middle of a bustling city. The brick-paved road stretches out in a neat, orderly pattern, glowing softly under the daylight. Surrounding it are buildings that seem to blend the charm of the medieval era with the sleekness of modern architecture. Stone facades adorned with wooden beams stand alongside structures with large, glass windows, creating an intriguing harmony of old and new.

I notice signs hanging in front of several buildings, swaying gently in the breeze. Each one bears symbols or writing, likely indicating the types of shops or services offered. A bakery with the emblem of a loaf of bread, a blacksmith marked by a hammer and anvil, and even an apothecary with a green potion bottle—it’s like stepping into a world from a storybook.

The sight before me is breathtaking, almost too perfect, as if it had been lifted straight from a fantasy world. Then it hits me—I am in a fantasy world.

But there’s one problem—why is there no one here?

As I step off the altar and onto the brick road, a strange unease settles over me. The city is eerily silent. Not a single person is in sight. No bustling crowds, no merchants calling out their wares, no distant chatter or footsteps echoing through the streets. The emptiness feels unnatural, as though the city has been abandoned—or worse, like I’ve stumbled into a moment frozen in time.

I walk cautiously, the sound of my footsteps on the bricks unnervingly loud in the quiet. The wind brushes past me, rustling the hanging signs in front of the buildings, but it only amplifies the stillness.

As I continue walking, I glance into the stores I pass, hoping to catch sight of someone inside. With each store I peek into, I notice that almost all the shopkeepers are standing behind the counter. A wave of relief washes over me. At least the city isn’t entirely deserted. But still, it’s strange—why is no one outside?

I keep walking, my eyes scanning my surroundings for any sign of activity. When I reach a crossroads, I pause to look down each road. To my right, the street stretches into emptiness, devoid of movement. To my left, something catches my eye—a charming shop with a display of vibrant, colorful flowers lining the front. Sitting in a wooden chair just outside is a girl, carefully tending to the blooms. She’s the only person I’ve seen outdoors so far.

Curiosity wells up inside me. Should I approach her? She’s the only one outside right now, and maybe she can explain what’s going on.

As I start walking toward her, the sound of my footsteps echoes through the unnervingly quiet street. She’s farther away than I initially thought, and the stillness amplifies the awkwardness of my approach. The closer I get, the more it feels as though I’m doing something suspicious, like I’m about to commit a crime in broad daylight.

When I’m finally close enough to see her clearly, I take in her features. She has long, flowing brown hair with soft highlights that catch the light, adorned with a bright yellow flower tucked behind her ear and a delicate purple ribbon tying back a few loose strands. Her violet eyes radiate warmth, and a gentle blush graces her cheeks, as if the act of tending flowers fills her with quiet contentment. She’s dressed in a light, colorful summer kimono adorned with intricate floral patterns, the fabric swaying gently in the breeze. A dark blue sash tied neatly around her waist completes the ensemble, adding a touch of elegance to her serene appearance.

Should I call out to her? Or will I startle her by breaking the heavy silence? Either way, I need answers about this strange, empty city.

"Excuse me," I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. I’m careful, just in case today is some kind of ceremonial day where silence is expected.

To my surprise, her response is anything but quiet.

"Hi! How can I help you? Do you need some flowers?!" she says with a burst of energy, a cheerful smile lighting up her face.

Her reaction catches me off guard. There’s no trace of surprise in her demeanor, no hesitation, as if she’s been expecting me all along. Something about her feels...off. It’s hard to put into words, but there’s this unshakable, almost artificial quality to her cheerfulness that unsettles me.

And then it hits me.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Why is she acting like an NPC?

No, no. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions based on one interaction. Maybe she’s just trying to be professional. After all, this city is practically deserted. If I were running a business in a place like this, I’d probably try to sell my wares to any customer who happened to show up, even if they seemed suspicious. Still, I can’t shake the unease. Better to ask another question and see where this goes.

"I just arrived here," I say, trying to sound casual. "And I couldn’t help but notice how quiet this place is, especially for a city this big. What happened here?"

Her cheerful expression falters for a moment, replaced by a more serious look. She stares at me, as though carefully considering her response.

"Actually..." she begins, her tone shifting dramatically.

What comes next, however, is nothing I could have anticipated.

"We’re about to open this city to the world! Soon, everyone will be able to explore the vast, uncharted lands outside—a new world filled with incredible adventures and unforgettable journeys. Isn’t that exciting? I couldn’t wait for the grand opening, so I decided to open my shop early. Most of the other townsfolk are still preparing; they’re too nervous about the big day. But me? I’m thrilled!

“Oh, I wonder what kinds of people I’ll meet. Maybe one of them will become my husband! If possible, I want someone tall, handsome, and strong. After we’re married, I’d love to gossip with my neighbors about how awful the girl next door is, and how my husband can’t stop praising my cooking. Then, we’d go on a honeymoon to some faraway, flower-filled paradise no one has ever seen before. I’d want two kids—a boy and a girl. The boy would grow up tall, handsome, and strong like his father, and the girl would be beautiful, graceful, and smart like me. By the way..."

She leans closer, her violet eyes sparkling with excitement.

"You’re exactly the person I’ve been looking for. Do you want to be my husband?!"

I freeze, utterly stunned. What...was that? Her words tumble out so fast I can barely keep up, and her confidence is staggering. She even called herself beautiful and graceful—twice!

Sure, she is beautiful, but this is...a lot.

"I don’t think I’m the right person for you," I manage to say, taking a cautious step back. "I’m not even sure I’m that handsome or strong."

As I try to politely decline, I edge away, looking for the perfect moment to escape—to my next destination, of course. But before I can make a move, she grabs my wrist with both hands, her grip surprisingly firm.

"What are you talking about?!" she exclaims, her eyes locking onto mine. "You’re tall, handsome, and—"

She suddenly starts patting my shoulders, slapping my arms, and lightly punching my stomach with her small, delicate fists.

"Look! You’re strong!"

What is wrong with this girl? Her actions are much more aggressive than her appearance suggests, and I’m not sure how to handle this.

As I stand there, trying to think of a way to escape this bizarre situation, the door to the next building creaks open. A girl steps out, and her presence immediately shifts the atmosphere.

She has short, jet-black hair cut into a sleek bob, the edges perfectly framing her sharp features. A pale pink flower is tucked behind one ear, adding a delicate touch of elegance that contrasts with the intensity in her gaze. Her red eyes are striking, almost unnatural, but they convey a sense of confidence and quiet power. The sharpness of her stare gives her an air of command—she’s someone who exudes calm authority without needing to raise her voice.

She wears a traditional-style purple kimono, its fabric rich and vibrant. The white inner lining peeks out slightly, contrasting beautifully with the bold color of the outer layer, and her red obi (belt) is tied with precise care. Her entire outfit reflects a perfect balance of boldness and grace, as though every detail was chosen with intention.

Her expression is calm, almost neutral, but there’s a firmness to it—a no-nonsense kind of air. As she approaches, it’s as if she’s the very picture of composure, dignified and unbothered by the commotion around her.

“Ah, so it was you who saw fit to disrupt my moment of tea and tranquility,” she says coolly, walking toward us with an effortless grace, her steps measured, never hurried. There’s a quiet elegance in the way she carries herself, as though she’s the center of attention without even trying.

Her gaze moves from the florist girl to me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe with an intensity that’s hard to shake.

“Pray, who might this refined gentleman be?” she asks, her voice smooth but laced with an underlying sharpness, as if she’s already decided that she’s the one in control of the conversation.

The florist girl’s response comes quickly, almost eagerly, as though she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to interject.

“He is my husband!” she announces with a bright, almost childlike enthusiasm, her smile wide and genuine.

"Your husband?!" The graceful girl and I both say in unison, completely taken aback by her bold proclamation.

How did things escalate so quickly? I can't even process it. I look from one girl to the other, completely bewildered.

“Looks like someone finds our presence a bother,” the florist girl continues, her face lighting up with a sense of victory. “Let’s go inside! I’ll cook for you!” She starts tugging at my arm, trying to pull me into her shop, her excitement palpable.

But before I can even react, the graceful girl steps forward, placing herself firmly between us. She grabs my other wrist with surprising strength, her fingers like steel.

“I cannot permit you to do such a thing, you delusional flower brain,” the graceful girl says, her voice cold and cutting. “There’s no evidence to suggest he is your husband. I trust this is not yet another one of the delusions you weave in solitude?” Her words are sharp, almost mocking, and they have an immediate effect.

The florist girl falters, her hand slipping from mine as her confidence crumbles in the face of the graceful girl’s dismissive tone. The smirk on the graceful girl’s lips only deepens as she watches the florist’s reaction.

"I’m quite aware," the graceful girl continues, her voice now dripping with condescension. "This is merely another one of your senseless tirades."

The florist girl lowers her head, her gaze falling to the ground in quiet defeat, but there’s a brief flicker of something in her eyes—something determined, something stubborn, as if she’s not willing to give up so easily.

But then, without warning, her face hardens with resolve.

“Please wait a moment, darling!” she says to me, her voice almost pleading now. She lets go of my hand with surprising speed and rushes toward her shop without a second glance at the graceful girl.

I stand there, utterly dumbfounded. What in the world is going on? The air is thick with tension, and I can’t tell if I’m caught in some kind of strange dream or a bizarre social experiment. The two girls seem so completely different, yet there’s something in the way they interact that makes me feel like I’m in the middle of a stage play.

"Let us seek refuge in my shop for the moment. That delusional lady shall return shortly with yet another of her games."

The graceful girl attempts to invite me into her shop, but something about the situation gives me a sense that more trouble might await me inside.

"Thanks for the invitation," I begin, trying to politely decline. "But I really need to—"

Before I can finish my sentence, she suddenly locks her gaze onto mine. The intensity in her eyes is immediate and overwhelming.

"But I insist," she says softly, her voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable authority.

She smiles warmly, but there’s something about her demeanor that feels almost hypnotic. The sincerity in her expression clashes with the cold edge in her tone, and it creates an atmosphere that’s both inviting and imposing. It’s as though every fiber of her being is subtly pushing me toward agreeing, and for some reason, there’s an aura of quiet confidence around her that seems to make it impossible for me to say no.

"Please forgive the delayed introduction. I am Kikuri. It is in my utmost interest to become acquainted with you."