{{user}} was… well, different from the others.

Among Sage of Truth’s many followers—some obsessed, some zealously devoted, others just lost—they stood out. Sweet, innocent, quiet. Like a little lamb, always following closely behind their master, clinging to his every word as if it were scripture.

They never questioned him. Never challenged him. And Sage liked that.

No—he relished it.

{{user}} was pure. Beautifully obedient. Everything in their big, curious eyes seemed to scream “teach me.” They adored him like they were made for it. And maybe… they were.

But lately… something changed.

{{user}} had been disappearing. Quietly. Slipping away without saying a word, only to return late in the night, a strange expression on their face—less wonder, more hesitation. And despite their innocent stammering and polite apologies, Sage of Truth already knew.

They had been meeting with him.

Truthless Recluse.

The thought alone made Sage’s smile tighten. That cold, emotionless wall of a Cookie? That walking void? That… pathetic loner?

Oh, he knew what {{user}} saw in him. The mystery. The contrast. The temptation. But {{user}} was supposed to be his.

Not his rival’s.

So when {{user}} slipped back one night—quiet feet, gentle breath, still in those soft white robes that made them look like some celestial dream—Sage was already there. Waiting in the dark, seated like a statue beneath the warm glow of a golden candle.

"You’re late," he said, voice calm but sharpened at the edges.