I Don't Need To Log Out-Chapter 94: Cake

With a sharp glance from Wok, the leader of the group, the overly enthusiastic Beastman fell silent, his earlier bravado replaced by a subdued demeanor.

That fleeting moment was all Arlon needed to confirm what he had suspected. The dynamics within the group were crystal clear now.

Wok was the undisputed leader, carefully controlling the flow of conversation and ensuring no one spoke out of turn.

Arlon kept his expression neutral, his face betraying none of his inner thoughts. But his mind was racing.

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The group’s disdain for the saviors was no longer implied; it was glaringly evident.

Wok’s firm grip on the group’s narrative hinted at something deeper—a purpose or a plan that extended beyond mere camaraderie.

He discreetly relayed his observations to his real body through the diminishing connection with his copy.

The link between them was weakening as the group traveled farther from Kelta, and Arlon knew it was only a matter of time before it severed completely.

Once the connection was lost, he would have to wait for the copy to return to learn what happened—or, in the worst-case scenario, for it to be destroyed.

Not that the loss of the copy itself would matter. Copies could be remade. The real concern was the Sentinel’s Legacy Set the copy was wearing.

Arlon hadn’t lightly sent his copy into potential danger. Equipping it with basic armor might have sufficed, but the chances of survival would have plummeted.

The Sentinel’s Legacy Set, with its powerful defensive properties, was an investment to protect the mission.

After all, Arlon hadn’t deployed the copy to confront the anti-saviors head-on. Quite the opposite—it was meant to integrate into their group.

Arlon’s understanding of the anti-savior faction was nuanced. These weren’t necessarily bad people. The Trionians who joined the faction often had legitimate grievances.

Arlon knew that, by now, some players had likely done unspeakable things to Trionians, treating them as expendable NPCs rather than real individuals.

Such actions, fueled by ignorance or entitlement, had undoubtedly sowed seeds of resentment.

In that sense, the anti-savior faction served a necessary purpose. It was a voice for the oppressed, a shield for those who had suffered at the hands of reckless saviors.

But Arlon’s experience in the past timeline made him question the true motives of the faction’s leadership.

The rank-and-file members seemed genuinely committed to their cause, but Arlon suspected the higher-ups had ulterior motives.

He wasn’t sure what those motives were, but in his past life, he had seen hints of manipulation, propaganda, and lies woven into the faction’s rhetoric.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps the organization was exactly what it appeared to be—a coalition of Trionians fighting for justice.

But if his suspicions were correct, and the leadership was using the members as pawns for a hidden agenda, the stakes were far higher than anyone realized.

That was why Arlon needed to infiltrate the faction and rise through its ranks. Only by reaching a higher position could he uncover the truth.

And if his fears proved baseless? If the faction’s cause was just?

Then he would help them. Regardless of their methods or history, if their fight was truly for the good of Trion, he would lend his strength to their cause.

For now, though, he had to play the long game—observe, adapt, and wait for the right moment to act.

---

When the carriage stopped, the evening was close.

They had entered a forest, just like Wok had told them they would. So, they were still going for a hunt in appearance.

After getting out of the carriage, they even readied their hunting gear like crossbows and rope.

At that time, Arlon wondered if he misunderstood something. He was sure that Wok and his team were anti-saviors, but maybe they didn’t bring him for a meet-up.

If that was the case, Arlon would need to create a trap so that they would let him meet someone inside.

They entered the forest while talking to each other normally and moved towards the inner parts of the forest.

After placing their camping gear and putting up the tent, the dog Beastman among them went for observation.

He would find where certain animals were and let them know. They would decide what to hunt only after learning that the next day.

Night hunting was also not a problem for them since there was nothing stronger than them in this forest.

But, since they would get back to work in two days, they didn’t want to change their sleeping routine.

Administrators are really through, even the ones that look like thugs... Arlon thought.

No matter what, even these Trionians were normal workers on other days, running around to complete work in time.

With that, the day ended and Arlon didn’t meet anyone.

---

Even though the forest was relatively safe, Wok’s group decided to assign lookouts for the night to ensure they could sleep soundly without worry.

The first shift was given to Arlon.

As it was his first time with their group, they allowed him to choose whether he wanted the first or last shift. This way, he wouldn’t have to deal with the hassle of being woken up in the middle of the night and struggling to fall asleep again.

For Arlon, it made no difference. He could stay awake as long as he wanted or sleep whenever he pleased, thanks to his unique circumstances.

But, of course, the others had no idea about his advantage. They insisted on dividing the night shifts fairly, so he couldn’t volunteer to handle the entire lookout himself.

And thus, Arlon was assigned the first shift.

The first two hours of his watch passed uneventfully. The forest was calm, with only the occasional rustling of leaves or distant hoots of owls breaking the silence.

Arlon found the tranquility oddly comforting, even as he remained alert for any signs of trouble.

When the time for his shift was nearly over, Wok emerged from his sleeping spot, stretching and yawning as he approached Arlon.

"You’re done," Wok said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Go ahead and get some rest."

Arlon glanced at him, then at the camp. "Still a few minutes left."

Wok shrugged, sitting down beside him. "Not like anyone’s keeping track."

Instead of heading to his bedroll, Arlon stayed seated, deciding to chat with Wok for a while.

Wok glanced at him curiously. "Not tired?"

"Not really," Arlon replied.

It was time to set his trap.

---

The same day, a few hours earlier...

Arlon’s real body had wrapped up his training for the day—or at least, the part of the training he did in front of others.

Later, after everyone logged out, he planned to continue in solitude.

But while they were logged in, everyone gathered as usual at the restaurant on the third floor.

The free food, courtesy of Zephyrion, was a perk they had come to appreciate. It saved them time and effort when they logged back into Earth since eating in Trion provided the same sustenance as eating in reality.

It had become a habit for the group to share a meal and chat before logging out, and Arlon joined them every evening.

To his surprise, he realized he was engaging with them more and more.

Though naturally reserved, he found himself speaking longer sentences and occasionally throwing in a wry comment or two.

But today felt different.

In the middle of the table was a cake.

It turned out it was Carmen’s birthday, and the others had prepared a small surprise party for her.

It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a simple cake and some lighthearted chatter—but the atmosphere was warm.

The weird thing, though, was that apart from Carmen, Arlon seemed to be the only one who hadn’t known about the surprise.

Not that he minded.

They probably thought I wouldn’t care, Arlon mused, observing the group as they laughed and teased Carmen.

And they were probably right. He had never been one to give off a particularly caring aura. Even when he spoke with the others, there was always a subtle distance between them.

As Arlon quietly watched, the group broke into an impromptu chorus of "Happy Birthday."

"You guys are terrible singers," Carmen said, though she was grinning.

"Hey, speak for yourself!" Zack protested. "I’ve got a golden voice. Right, Carole?"

Carole smirked. "Golden, sure. Like a screeching phoenix."

"Burn!" Pierre laughed, clapping Zack on the shoulder.

"Okay, okay," Carmen said, waving her hands. "Enough about Zack’s ’golden voice.’ Whose idea was this? The cake, I mean?"

Evan raised his hand. "I thought it would be nice. But everyone chipped in."

"Even me!" Zack said proudly.

"Barely," Evan muttered. "You brought one candle."

"And it’s the best candle!" Zack shot back.

The table erupted in laughter, and Carmen shook her head, clearly touched despite the teasing. "Thanks, everyone. Seriously. This means a lot."

"Make a wish!" Lei urged.

Carmen leaned over the cake, her face lit by the soft glow of the single candle.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then blew it out.

"What did you wish for?" Zack asked immediately.

"You can’t ask that!" Maria scolded. "If she tells, it won’t come true!"

"Maybe I wanted it not to come true," Carmen said with a sly smile.

"That’s... oddly deep," Pierre said, scratching his head.

As the banter continued, Arlon remained silent, his expression neutral but his thoughts drifting.

He didn’t feel excluded or alienated. He had never been one for celebrations or emotional displays.

Still, watching the camaraderie among the group, he couldn’t help but feel a faint tug of something unfamiliar.

Not envy. Not regret.

Something quieter.

Ah, that must be the reason.

Well, what are the chances...

I, for the second time, became 24 today.