How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

As the days passed, a quiet peace began to settle over the White Realm—once a powerful domain ruled by a goddess-like figure known as the White Queen.

Her oppressive presence, once omnipresent and suffocating, was now nothing more than a memory scattered across the hollow skies.

The realm that had once felt frozen in time, locked in its pure, colorless stillness, now felt strangely weightless, as if exhaling for the first time in ages.

The world she left behind should have remained empty—a desolate wasteland devoid of life, of purpose, of direction.

At least, that was what most expected. But something unexpected had begun to stir.

At the heart of the capital city—the very place the White Queen once ruled from her towering alabaster castle that stood solemnly at the northernmost point—life had started to bloom.

Several kilometers from the castle, in what was once a pale and ghostly city square, color had returned in splashes and strokes of vibrancy that defied the city's bleak past.

Walls that had once been bone-white were now adorned with murals in hues of crimson, gold, azure, and emerald.

The once sterile buildings now bore the marks of emotion, of community, of renewal.

Red-colored beings, emissaries from the Red Realm, bustled about the city.

They worked tirelessly, hammering, carving, rebuilding, and transforming this spectral place into something that could resemble a home.

Formerly abandoned homes were being restructured—some repainted, some repurposed entirely.

Red-armored knights patrolled the outer roads on their blood-red steeds, keeping watch not as conquerors, but as guardians.

Some of them relaxed in the newly built plazas, chatting, laughing, even playfully sparring in the streets while awaiting the next command from their new queen.

The White Realm, once cold and distant, was becoming warm again.

At the center of it all stood Red Queen Alice Holloway.

It hadn't been long since the final battle ended—since the chains of fate were broken and the tyrannical reign of the White Queen came to a close.

Yet already, the crown once worn by that near-divine sovereign had been passed down to Alice, the very girl who once stood as a piece on her game board.

The essence of White Authority, the symbol of dominion over this realm, now pulsed softly within Alice's soul, harmonized with the deep-red power of her own origin.

And she wore it not with tyranny or pride, but with purpose.

Though the scars of war had not yet fully healed the world from all the destruction it took, Alice stood as a beacon of what could be—a bridge between two divided realms.

Soon, the boundary between red and white would fade entirely. As the two realms will join.

This new era was only just beginning. For everyone between the two realms.

"Okay, land that gently over there~ and you, kindly place it right on the tip of the hand, please~ Ah! And guys—don't forget to add the paint later, okay? I'll be coming to check on it soon,"

Cheshire called out with theatrical flair, his smoky tail curling dramatically behind him.

Then, with a sudden shift in tone, he lifted a paw to his neck and made a slicing motion.

"If I find even a gram of mistake in this splendid piece of art… I'll erase you all permanently."

The red-armored workers—a mix of summoned constructs and artificially manifested knights—froze mid-action.

Though none of them possessed true throats or saliva to gulp with, a collective tremble passed through their forms.

For all their durability, for all their supposed immortality granted through summoning magic, there was one thing they all knew deep in their cores:

Cheshire, the fantastical and terrifying familiar of their queen, could end them.

Not just dismiss them temporarily.

No, permanently.

And he would do it with a smile on his face and a hum in his voice.

The red workers glanced around at one another, silently communicating through nods and anxious movements before returning to their tasks with renewed and meticulous focus.

Not a single edge was left unrefined.

Not a drop of paint was misplaced.

Every brushstroke, every joint, every angle—perfect. Or at least, it had better be.

Hovering nearby with an air of exaggerated satisfaction, Cheshire nodded at his own floating, semi-transparent self.

His paws folded behind his back as he floated in slow circles, admiring the centerpiece of the city's square—an almost two-story-high statue of himself, gleaming in polished white stone and adorned with crimson accents.

His likeness had been captured with almost divine precision: his signature smug grin etched into his face, his plump tail wrapped elegantly around the pedestal, and his three clawed paws outstretched.

Water spewed upward from his mouth in a dramatic arc, while delicate streams gushed from each of his raised claws, cascading like dancing silver ribbons down into the crystal-clear pool below.

It was more than a statue. It was a fountain. A glorious, elegant, utterly whimsical fountain.

The plaque below read, in stylized crimson lettering:

"The Guardian of Red and Whimsy—Cheshire the Eternal."

"Oh ho ho~ just look at that sparkle," Cheshire purred, watching a sunbeam bounce off his stone grin. "It's like looking into a mirror—if the mirror were slightly more humble."

He floated up higher, basking in his own magnificence, his voice echoing playfully through the square as he shouted, "Now that is what I call divine architecture! Make sure the water pressure is even on all sides, and someone add a spotlight—my good side is every side!"

And just like that, construction resumed at a feverishly careful pace beneath the gaze of a very pleased—and very dangerous—cat.

He then dramatically ran a paw through the back of his smoky head, as if overcome by awe at the sheer magnificence of the scene before him.

His tail curled with satisfaction, and his expression glowed with smug pride.

The statue of himself stood tall under the sun, the water glistening, the workers scrambling to perfection—all of it, in his eyes, was nothing short of divine artistry.

"Truly," he whispered to himself, eyes gleaming like twin crescent moons, "this is the peak of aesthetic achievement. The embodiment of class, elegance… and me~"

He turned toward the busy street stretching ahead from the fountain and raised a paw high into the air, his voice echoing across the square with theatrical grandeur.

"Hmm~ yes, this street shall now be known as Cheshire Street! It's only right! None of you lot object, correct?"

His declaration rang out like a royal decree.

Several red-armored workers flinched mid-swing of their tools. Some paused, glancing at one another, hesitant.

A few opened their mouths, clearly considering pointing out that naming streets was a matter reserved for the Queen—or at least something discussed in a formal council.

But when their eyes fell back on the smug, floating figure above them—the being who could permanently erase them with a mere flick of his claw—they wisely shut their mouths.

Technically, Cheshire was now a recognized co-ruler of this realm.

After all, Alice, the new Red Queen, had named him its official guardian and right hand. In a way, his word was law now.

So, they nodded. All of them.

With a pleased hum, Cheshire floated upward, his chest puffed out with pride.

He gave a gentle spin in midair, as though the wind itself should admire his grace, before darting off across the skies—toward another project he had undoubtedly crafted in his ever-whirling mind.

"Haah~ who knew seriously taking care of a realm would be such a hassle~" he muttered under his breath, tone laced with dramatic annoyance. "Back in the Red Realm, everything just bent to my whims like good little pawns. I didn't even have to manage things… I simply existed—and perfection followed."

He sighed, long and exaggerated, resting upside-down in midair like a lounging spirit.

"…But now I have to plan, delegate, organize—ugh, it's almost like I have responsibilities."

Despite the groan, a small mischievous smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

"…Still, I suppose this realm deserves a ruler with proper taste. And lucky them, I'm both tasteful and fabulous~" he purred, speeding off into the horizon with a twinkle of magic left in his trail.

"It will take a short while before the convergence of worlds happens~" Cheshire muttered to himself, lounging atop a floating crimson cushion of mana, his tail lazily flicking back and forth in the air.

The convergence—the final unification of the Red Realm and the White Realm—was steadily approaching.

Soon, the boundary between the two would vanish completely, fusing the two great planes into one solid, interconnected realm.

And with that, creatures from both worlds—some monstrous, some humanoid, and some far stranger—would begin to cross over, mingle, interact.

Though many of them lacked the intelligence or even full consciousness of sapient beings, they were still living entities… and thus, beings Cheshire had to account for.

Which meant one thing: preparation.

A lot of it.

The flamboyant cat familiar sighed deeply, recalling how much work he had done in the past few weeks.

Ever since the end of the war and the fall of the White Queen, he had thrown himself into managing the transition and repairs.

Despite his usually playful and dramatic attitude, Cheshire had taken his new responsibilities seriously—perhaps too seriously, even by his own standards.

In that time, he'd managed to stabilize the internal and external structure of the realm.

Torn portals left in the wake of magical chaos had been closed, the fragile dimensional walls mended, and the very laws of reality—some of which had begun to bend and crack under the immense pressure of war—had been patched and fortified.

He'd even made time to design several new buildings, streets, and aesthetic flourishes, of course.

One couldn't rule a realm without a little flair, after all.