The silence in the waiting room was a physical weight. It was heavier than the exhaustion pulling at Samantha's bones, heavier even than the sticky, cooling film of her brother's blood on her clothes. It was a suffocating blanket woven from antiseptic, despair, and the low, incessant hum of fluorescent lights that seemed to mock the very concept of rest.
She looked down at her hands, still clasped in her lap. They weren't shaking from the familiar, insidious weakness of her illness anymore. This was a new tremor, the aftershock of a violence so profound it had been permanently branded onto her nervous system. She had felt bone give way beneath her fist. She had heard a man's life gurgle out of him as her fingers tightened around his throat. These hands didn't feel like hers. They felt capable. They felt strong. They felt stained.
Across from her, Kurosawa Akemi leaned against the offensively pastel-yellow wall, a study in lethal stillness. Her arms were crossed, her expression a mask of chilling neutrality. But her eyes, dark and fathomless, were fixed on Samantha, dissecting her with an intensity that was far more unnerving than any physical threat.
"If I ever... if I ever start acting like the old me again," Samantha whispered, the words a raw confession meant more for herself than for the predator in her corner. "The weak me... the scared me... promise me you'll slap me. Hard."
A ghost of a smile, sharp and dangerous as a shard of glass, touched Akemi's lips. "It would be my distinct pleasure, Sam-chan." Her voice was a low purr, but the amusement didn't reach her eyes. The smile faded, replaced by that unnerving, analytical calm. "But honestly? I have a feeling that girl isn't coming back."
The silence stretched between them, an acknowledgment of the abyss they had both stared into, and the monsters they had both become.
Samantha's own lips trembled, a bitter, fragile smile forming. "Me neither," she breathed, the admission tasting like ash and freedom.
Just as the final word left her lips, a sound that wasn't a sound pierced the quiet of her mind.
TING.
It was a crystalline chime, cold and sharp, an intrusive sliver of digital ice injected directly into her soul. Her entire body went rigid, a jolt of pure, pavlovian dread seizing her. The fragile peace she had found in Akemi's presence shattered into a million pieces.
[System Alert: New Main Mission Unlocked.]
Akemi's focus sharpened instantly. The shift was terrifying to behold; one moment she was a casually observant girl, the next she was a hunter that had scented blood on the wind. "What is it?" Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion, a command disguised as a question. "Bad news about Ren?"
Samantha didn't—couldn't—answer. Her gaze was fixed on a point in the air just to the left of Akemi's head, where a translucent blue window had shimmered into existence. It hovered there, a specter of impossible technology, its glowing text a death sentence for her newfound hope. Her newly forged resolve, the grim determination that had carried her through the warehouse, crumbled into dust.
Her lips parted, but only a faint, shaky breath escaped.
"…This isn't over," she whispered, the words a cold, dead weight in her soul. "It's only just beginning."
"What's only just beginning?" Akemi pressed, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer. Her movements were fluid, economical, radiating a contained power that made the air feel thin.
Samantha blinked, trying to force herself back to reality, to the pastel walls and the smell of floor cleaner. "It's... nothing. Just... a stress headache, I think." The lie was pathetic, flimsy as cobwebs, and she knew it.
Akemi's eyes narrowed, a silent, eloquent dismissal of the lie. She didn't press the point, but filed it away. Another piece of the bewildering puzzle that Kisaragi Samantha had become.
A faint, nervous shimmer appeared over Samantha's shoulder. Mochi materialized, his usual cheerful glow dimmed to a cautious flicker. He looked less like a divine mascot and more like a child's balloon afraid of being popped.
"Um... Contractor?" he whispered, his voice a tiny squeak in the vast, silent theater of her mind.
She ignored him, her own eyes glued to the horrifying notification.
[Main Mission #3: The Jounan High Purification]
[Objective: Identify and Neutralize the Source of the Corruption Infiltrating Your School.]
[Difficulty: ★★★★★ (Extreme)]
[Time Limit: 30 Days]
[Reward: Unique Skill (Class: ???)]
[Penalty for Failure: Culling Protocol Activated.]
Her blood, which had just begun to thaw, turned to solid ice in her veins. Five stars. The same difficulty as the mission she had just survived by the slimmest of margins, by the grace of Akemi's arrival. The same difficulty that had a penalty of 'Death & Violation'. And this new penalty... Culling Protocol. The words were sterile, corporate, and a thousand times more terrifying for it. It didn't sound like a punishment for her. It sounded like a punishment for everyone.
Akemi took another step closer, her shadow falling over Samantha. "You look like you just saw a ghost. And I'm not talking about whatever invisible friend you seem to have."
Mochi coughed nervously, a sound only Samantha could hear. "Well, technically..."
"Now is not the time," Samantha hissed, her voice a barely-audible whisper, her glare fixed on the little spectral dumpling.
"Actually," Mochi countered, his form solidifying with a grim sense of purpose. "It kind of is. This is important." He floated closer, his voice dropping to the conspiratorial tone of one sharing a terrible, cosmic secret. "You have three Main Missions, Samantha. Total. For this... cycle."
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. "Wait—what do you mean, 'cycle'?"
Mochi nodded, his big blue eyes wide and serious. "The System operates in cycles. A story arc, if you will. Every three Main Missions completed constitutes one full cycle. If you complete all three within their given time limits..." He paused, spreading his stubby arms for dramatic effect. "…you are granted a 'Cycle Completion Bonus'. A big one. Something game-breaking. Something that could fundamentally change your relationship with the System."
A cold knot of dread formed in Samantha's stomach. She already knew the next question, and she didn't want to ask it. "And... what happens if I fail one?"
Mochi winced, his form flickering. "That... depends on the failure. Minor failures might just reset your progress. You'd lose the bonus and start the cycle over. A catastrophic failure, like... say... failing a five-star mission with a 'Culling Protocol' penalty..." He trailed off, letting her imagination fill in the horrifying blanks. "The System might just decide you're a failed investment. It might... decommission you."
Decommission. Another sterile, bloodless word for something monstrous. She closed her eyes, the rhythmic beeping from the ER down the hall sounding like a countdown timer. Protect the school. From a five-star threat. A 'Corruption'.
And what in the hell was she supposed to do about it? She was a girl who, less than a week ago, considered walking to the mailbox a strenuous activity. Now she was supposed to be some kind of supernatural janitor?
"Can you at least tell me what the 'incoming threat' is?" she muttered, the question a desperate plea. "A demon? A rival system user? A particularly aggressive bake sale?"
Mochi held up his tiny hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Hey, I'm just the user-friendly interface! I deliver the mail, I don't write it! The Core Algorithm detects the threat; I just give you the notification!"
"Okay, seriously." Akemi's voice cut through her spiraling panic, sharp and grounding. "Who are you talking to, Sam-chan?"
Samantha's eyes snapped open, focusing on Akemi's face. "Huh?"
"You keep whispering at the air and making faces like you're arguing with a tax auditor. I'm used to you being quiet and weird, but this is a new level of clinically weird. Are you cracking under the pressure of getting a perfect score on that literature test?"
The absurdity of the question, of how far her life had spun out of control in just a few days, was so immense that a choked, hysterical laugh escaped Samantha's lips. "Yeah. That's it. The pressure of... literary analysis. It's brutal."
Akemi did not look convinced. "If you develop a second personality and she's annoying, I'm holding you both down and forcing you into therapy."
"Duly noted." Samantha pushed the pulsing, terrifying mission to the back of her mind. It was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, only one thing mattered. She took a deep, shuddering breath. One problem at a time. Survive tonight. Survive your parents. Then you can worry about saving the world.
Akemi leaned back against the wall, her brief interrogation over. She seemed to sense she'd get no more from Samantha for now. She tipped her head back, staring at the water-stained ceiling tiles. "You know," she said, her voice casual again, "if someone had told me I'd spend my Friday night dismembering a gang of wannabe rapists before getting a ride to the hospital, I would've worn more practical shoes."
The blunt, horrifying summary of the evening made Samantha snort, a real, genuine sound of amusement. "You still would have been terrifying in flip-flops."
A brief, sharp grin flashed across Akemi's face. "Damn right."
The easy moment hung between them, a fragile bubble in a sea of trauma. It was promptly popped by the soft click of the waiting room door swinging open.
A doctor, a man in his mid-thirties with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and a clipboard held like a shield, stepped inside. His professional gaze swept the room, landing immediately on the two blood-spattered girls.
"Family of Kisaragi Ren?"
Samantha and Akemi were on their feet in the same instant, a synchronized movement of desperate hope.
The doctor offered a small, reassuring smile that seemed to reach his eyes. "He's stable."
The words hit Samantha with the force of a physical blow. Her knees buckled, and if Akemi hadn't shot out a hand to steady her arm, she would have collapsed onto the pristine linoleum. The strength that had seen her through the fight, the adrenaline and the rage, drained out of her all at once, leaving a hollow, trembling void.
"He has multiple contusions, two cracked ribs, a minor concussion, and he's severely dehydrated," the doctor continued, his tone calm and professional. "But you got him here just in time. The asthma attack was progressing to a critical stage. A few more minutes, and..."
He didn't need to finish the sentence. The unspoken words hung in the air, heavy and cold.
Tears, hot and unstoppable, began to stream down Samantha's face again. These weren't tears of fear or rage, but of overwhelming, gut-wrenching relief.
"He's stable now," the doctor repeated gently. "He's awake and lucid. And he's been asking for you two."
Akemi let out a long, slow breath, a sound so soft Samantha almost didn't hear it. It was the only outward sign of the terror the Ice Queen had been holding back.
"Can we... can we see him?" Samantha asked, her voice thick and clogged with tears as she pushed herself upright.
The doctor's smile widened. "Of course. Right this way."
He led them through the double doors and into the controlled chaos of the ER. The hallway was sterile, the air sharp with the scent of rubbing alcohol. Every squeak of their shoes on the floor, every distant beep of a machine, echoed the frantic, hopeful thudding of Samantha's own heart. She wasn't sure why she was so nervous now. The danger was over. He was alive. But the thought of seeing him, of seeing the damage those animals had wrought, made her stomach clench.
The doctor stopped in front of a door marked with the number 212. He pushed it open.
And there he was.
Ren was sitting up in the bed, propped against a mountain of pillows. An IV line snaked into the back of his hand, and a thin, clear oxygen tube was nestled beneath his nose. His face was a grotesque mosaic of purples and blues, his lower lip split and swollen. But he was alive. His eyes, one of which was nearly swollen shut, were open.
And they lit up the second he saw them.
"Took you two long enough," he rasped, the words punctuated by a weak, rattling cough.
Samantha didn't walk; she scrambled, nearly tripping over her own feet to get to his bedside. "Onii-chan!" she cried, her voice breaking as she gently took his uninjured hand. It felt cold. "You're... you're okay..."
"Barely," he managed, a faint, pained chuckle escaping his split lips. "You, by the way, drive like a bat out of hell."
Samantha sniffled, a watery laugh mixing with her tears. "Takes one to know one."
Akemi entered last, her movements slower, more deliberate. She stopped at the foot of the bed, her usual icy composure looking fragile for the first time. Her eyes, dark and intense, met Ren's. An entire, silent conversation passed between them in a single, charged glance.
He offered her a faint, tired smile. A smile just for her. "Hey, you."
"Hey yourself," she murmured, her voice softer than Samantha had ever heard it. "You look like shit."
"Feel like it, too," Ren replied, his gaze never leaving her face. "But you're here."
"Always," she said. It wasn't a promise. It was a statement of fact. As simple and certain as gravity.