"You... you were dead," the driver whispered with a cracked voice. "I saw your head... I saw the blood..."
He looked down at the asphalt. The blood was still there—a dark, steaming smear of crimson—but the man standing in the center of it seemed unharmed. There was no wound, although evidence of blood still stained his frame.
The screech of tires and the sound of the crash had acted like a dinner bell for the city's curiosity. Windows slid open in nearby apartments while pedestrians stopped mid-stride. A circle began to form, a wall of human faces illuminated by the flickering orange glow of the truck's hazard lights.
"Did he just... stand up?" a woman in a business suit murmured, clutching her purse to her chest.
"I saw him roll," a teenager whispered, holding up a phone with the camera lens focused on Lovemir's face. "His arm was literally pointing the wrong way. I swear to God, I heard it snap back."
The murmurs grew, a rising tide of static that filled Lovemir's ringing ears.
"Does he know pain?"
"That's sick! He might just be an alien."
"Is it a prank? Is there a hidden camera?"
"He's covered in blood, but he's not even limping."
Lovemir ignored his surroundings and, as if looks could kill, he glared into the thin air. Another panel popped out.
「 Establishing Connection With Your Skills... 」
「 ■■■ 30% 」
「 ■■■■■ 50% 」
「 ■■■■■■■■ 80% 」
「 ■■■■■■■■■■ 100% 」
「 Success! Your skills have been established. 」
「 You can view them on your [Matchmaker's Window]. 」
He was deeply confused by the jargon, but if there was one thing he understood, it was that he could not end his life even if he wanted to. The System would merely reject his death. He was like a vessel being controlled by some parasite who could not even use a more approachable tactic.
Then, would he just have to accept being a Matchmaker?
Screw that! Lovemir sneered as he started to walk, the crowd scattering as he moved out of their sight.
"W–Wait!" the driver yelled with worry, but Lovemir didn't seem to hear as he continued down the sidewalk.
Lovemir simply rubbed his temples. He might have been new to this, but he was observant enough and wary of modern trends. It wasn't that he wanted to be, but the reality was that even when he didn't mind such trends, they were everywhere. People nowadays were as loud as their creations; even if he busied himself in suffering, these things made their way into his sight. Kids playing on their phones, news on the television, and even something known as... gossip.
"System, what is a Matchmaker?" he asked out of the blue.
He still didn't like the idea of playing by the rules—what was that supposed to mean to him? But if he wanted to die, there might be something he needed to confirm. The System would simply answer.
A panel appeared before him.
「 In the modern world, the Gods sent forth their personas to search for hosts that would play as the Matchmakers of this era. 」
It appeared as an introduction; once it disappeared and new text appeared, Lovemir got the gist of his question.
「 A Matchmaker is an existence chosen by a God to create a modernized way of apostasy, or simply, finding apostles to battle the darkness of this era. There are different kinds of Matchmakers: Love, Hate, and Jealousy, among others. 」
Lovemir creased his forehead. "Darkness... What darkness?"
Before the System could respond, a figure appeared beside him and said it himself: "The harbingers of chaos."
When Lovemir looked at the stranger, the man was wearing a magician's hat, a tuxedo, and loose trousers paired with a vest and a ribbon—all painted in black. His face was rough but charming and defined like an Adonis, with stubs of hair on his chin.
"Or simply, demons."
"Then get a priest and exorcise them," Lovemir scoffed as he continued to walk.
The man smirked. "You know, you're supposed to be shocked. Why are you acting as if we're friends?"
Lovemir didn't answer. In fact, he didn't want to. What could he possibly say—that he was not shocked because he had just let a truck hit him and disfigure his body? That would have been just as baffling.
"I don't see any demons around." Lovemir looked at his surroundings but to no avail.
"In this era, you need to be as keen as possible, dear Matchmaker." The man chuckled. "Look not with a man's eyes," he pointed a finger to his temple, "but with the abilities given to you."
Lovemir raised a brow. "I suspect you know I'm a beginner. I didn't sign up for this absurdity at all."
"Mind you, I was like that at first."
Did you also try to kill yourself? he burlesqued internally. "I guess not," he whispered after.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing."
"You seem to be saying something."
Lovemir realized a fact. "And why have you pried into someone else's conversation?" He assumed this man knew of his system because the stranger likely had one of his own.
"Because you are my mission?" The man clicked his tongue. "The name's Beethoven van Zanth, an Apostle of Love, the Romance Matchmaker." He even bowed as they continued down the busy street.
"Tell me this mission of yours then, dear Sir Beethoven."
"Are you always this direct?"
"Just answer me."
"Fine." Beethoven's eyes flickered. "It's the beginning of your matchmaking service."