CHAPTER 63: I’M NOT READY FOR THE FOOT ROUTE

Finn looked out the window—and there he was.

The man from the journal.

Lying across a couple rooftops and a rickety alleyway below, hunched beside a bucket, rubbing some unholy sludge onto the side of a building like it was some sacred way of living.

"No... freakin’ way." Finn blinked, leaning closer.

What were the odds?

Outside, the sky had begun to shift. The orange haze of a dying sun sank low, while the moon crept in like it was clocking into its graveyard shift. The day was ending, and so was Finn’s will to function.

But that guy? He just kept rubbing that weird goop onto the wall. Over and over. Lovingly.

"Does he have a kink for keeping walls moist or something?" Finn mumbled, half-chuckling—but he didn’t laugh long. Because deep down, yeah... this was creepy. Like wrong genre creepy.

He looked back down at the paper.

The rest of the diary got worse. Way worse.

Each entry was like peeling back sanity one layer at a time. The dude started off annoyed... then unsettled... then paranoid... then totally scrambled. None of it made sense, and yet somehow, it all did. It felt true. Too true.

And that freaked Finn out.

Because sure, the adventurers back at the guild were weird, but they still functioned like humans. The receptionist? Overworked, but sane. Ardin’s fan club? Brainwashed but consistent. Even the wizard tower guys were just smug racist spellcasters—and honestly, Finn could live with that.

They gave him a hat.

But Moistvile?

Moistvile made no goddamn sense.

The swamp slurped. The buildings groaned. The people farted in lowercase. The whole town felt like it was built on top of a secret punchline no one was laughing at.

Even the town names were horrifying.

Lickthorn had casually mentioned a place called Yeastvile earlier, and Finn almost threw up in his mouth.

"If there’s a town called Smegmavile, I’m deleting myself from this plane of existence."

And if that ever happened, he was 100% blaming Majestria. Even if it wasn’t her fault. Just on principle.

Finn focused back on the paper. Right. Serious time.

"Day Twenty-two.

Then the man noticed me."

That was the last entry.

Nothing after that.

Just an empty page.

Either the guy died. Or ran. Or got turned into wall lube.

Finn’s heart began pounding in his chest.

That meant...

This was recent.

Very recent.

He looked back up toward the window—

And his soul left his body.

The man was no longer rubbing the wall. He was staring.

Right at him.

Standing like a serial killer. Still as stone. Just watching.

No movement.

No blinking.

No reason.

Finn let out the girliest "eek" ever recorded and ducked under the window frame like it a kid hiding from his abusive father. His stupid pointy wizard hat still stuck up over the edge like a panicked shark fin.

He lowered himself further, then slowly, very slowly, peeked back up—just enough to glance.

Gone.

The man was gone.

Finn blinked at the empty alley.

"Nope. Nope nope nope." He sat back down on the chair and stared into space. "This town needs Jesus. And a priest. And a flamethrower."

"And definitely a nuke too. Y’know, for safety measures."

Finn rubbed his temples, eyes dead. "This is starting to feel way too much like Lord of the Flies."

He was so done.

Mystery? Nope.

Horror? Absolutely not.

If it wasn’t boobs, food, video games, gambling, or mildly alcoholic drinks, he wanted nothing to do with it.

***

"Get off the bed," Majestria snapped, arms crossed like a noble offended by a peasant’s shadow. "Someone as high-ranking and divine as myself shouldn’t be sleeping on the floor."

"Then why don’t you get in the bed with me~?" Lickthorn wiggled her butt suggestively, already sprawled out like she owned the place.

"Disgusting!" Majestria shouted, launching a divine punch square into Lickthorn’s rear.

"AH—MY LEFT CHEEK!" Lickthorn clutched her booty like it had just been spiritually assaulted.

The whole scene dragged Finn’s brain out of the supernatural creep-fest and back into the usual degeneracy. Comforting in its own way. Deranged. But familiar.

Tap. Tap.

Chestelle tapped Finn’s shoulder like a haunted doll politely asking for screen time.

"Daddy."

"Stop. Calling me that."

"Where are we sleeping tonight?"

That was a good question.

"...Oh yeahhh. That’s a great question, Chestelle!"

Her eyes lit up like she’d just won a prize.

"I wouldn’t know the answer to that."

"Oh." She blinked, then tilted her head at the paper on the desk. "What were you reading?"

Finn glanced at it. "This? Uh... nothing. Don’t worry about it."

Trying not to think on that whole mystery horror thing as of now.

SMACK!

A leather boot slapped Finn straight in the face. He staggered back, holding his nose in agony.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!"

He turned—

And saw it.

Majestria and Lickthorn.

Wrestling.

On the bed.

Grippers out. Shoes off. Limbs tangled like a religiously inappropriate yoga session.

Finn’s pupils dilated. The holy choir began. He had seen heaven.

"My feet are clearly better than yours!" Lickthorn shouted, pinning Majestria for half a second.

"You wish, fungus feet!"

Finn stared like a man watching the gates of Valhalla open.

Even Chestelle tilted her head in confusion. "Are they mating?"

And then—

SNAP.

Both girls’ heads turned toward Finn with demon-like speed.

"Finn." they said in eerie unison.

"Y-Y-Yeah?"

Majestria adjusted herself, now sitting primly at the edge of the bed, legs crossed like a queen on trial. Lickthorn composed herself too, scooting up beside her, mirroring the pose. Their legs glowed with freshly applied leg oil—or at least divine lighting.

"Tell us..." Majestria purred. "Finn-poo..."

Finn’s spine bristled.

Finn’s brain went blank. His body locked up like a console mid-crash.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared.

He didn’t even have a foot fetish—

But now? He was standing at the crossroads of toe damnation.

Pick Majestria’s feet? She’d gloat about it for weeks. Pick Lickthorn’s feet? She’d probably cry with happiness... then ask to marry him.

Don’t pick anyone?

He dies.

He knew he was in a visual novel. He just didn’t know it was the hardcore foot route.

"...which one of our feet is better?"