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Then he was right, even though PvP games on the cellphone could be anything from tower defense games to those brain-numbingly boring 'co-operative farming' games in which the only PvP came from competing to see who could grow a bigger vegetable, or something equally pointless. Sure, Gabe appreciated the work of farmers, but really, why do people think that was fun? Listening more to Bookman's explanations though, it was clear that everything was pretty much a joke.

Back to being titled as a telemarketer who was an aficionado of dry humor it was then. Even though a grand tournament for the throne of Almighty Demon King would have been a fun distraction from the nothingness in his schedule during weekday midnight hours. As well as the legalized death matches. That would be really fun. He'd have to look up his stats after this, just to check out how strong he was supposed to be. Gabe would like to think of himself as an elegant berserker with tons of cheap but fancy one-hit skills, and hopefully the stats would reflect that. It'd displease him if he was relegated to the role of a cowardly ranged-attack spammer for the first few levels due to a divide between his preferences and his stats.

The second answer to his question, though, was odd. Not even an answer, really, considering how Bookman decided to answer a question with another question. Gabe blinked once, about to ask whether this was another joke, before allowing himself to think instead.

Assume that it was, indeed, a PvP game. But, also assume that it was in the real world, with no 'truly' supernatural elements attached. A death match in real life then, sponsored by the rich elites that controlled the state of the world from the shadows: the Illuminati. No doubt, instead of something like 'granting a single wish to the victor of the bloodbath', it would be 'grant a ton of money to the winner'. Then, the Bookman would be his 'sponsor'? Or perhaps his 'manager'? Another interesting idea, brought forth by what was probably just the scarf-man trying to sound philosophical and deep.

Nevertheless, Gabe's musings were broken once more by his...now, Bookman was apparently a servant. These newfangled telemarketers or underground tournament recruiters or Demon King Candidate Managers really must enjoy switching their perceived roles around. But the Key was special, and apparently, had the ability to open 'somethings'.

Picking up the Librarian Key and twirling it absentmindedly by its keychain, Gabe said, in a tone that was half-interest and half-amusement, [b]“I would recommend that you play down your grandiose tones, unless you want to sound like a ringmaster. Unless that's what you do. Announce the arrival of clowns and all that. Would have thought you'd look more children-friendly though.”[/b]

Gabe was going off into a tangent again, probably. Standing up and leaving the cellphone on the table, he promptly walked to the front door, opened it, went into the corridor, selected a random door to a different apartment suite, and then pressed the archaic key against the keyhole.

To his surprise, the Key improbably slid in, as if it had always been meant to open up the doors of modern apartment suites. Or maybe this was some sort of...magical skeleton key that can open anything? He wondered if the Key Shop people did profile checks on the people they gave those Keys to. The ability to open any door could be abused quite easily, after all, and while Gabe wasn't the type of vagrant to break into homes in order to steal cat food or whatever, he was pretty sure that others would.

After all, not everyone was a gentleman like himself.

With those thoughts, he twisted the key and pushed open the door. The occupants were probably asleep anyways, so he won't get into trouble with the landlady for this.