Chapter 51 – The Rebirth of Illusion
The cameras rolled.
The lights were perfectly balanced, diffused just enough to give the conference room a sense of open-air calm. Screens behind the central podium glowed with rich blues and shimmering golds — the new palette of Gen7Tech's future.
A sleek logo floated in digital mist:
MYTHCORE: REGENESIS
"No pain. No fear. Just adventure."
Dozens of reporters filled the seats, their tablets glowing, mics clipped to their collars. Others watched remotely — live streams piped directly to millions of viewers across the globe.
At precisely 10:00 AM, the doors opened.
The CEO of Gen7Tech stepped onto the stage — Yui Nakamura, young, polished, practiced. She offered a warm smile. One that had been rehearsed a hundred times and mirrored nothing of the world that had been quietly erased from her memory.
"Good morning," she began.
"Today, we begin a new journey."
Behind her, the screens lit up with vibrant visuals — rolling green hills, friendly NPCs waving from cobblestone towns, players laughing as they cast spells or crafted armor. The trailer pulsed with soft, melodic music and bright particle effects.
No violence. No screaming. No blood.
Just curated fantasy.
"Twelve days ago A year ago, we launched World Frontier, an experimental VR project focused on realism and immersion. It was bold — maybe too bold," Nakamura continued. "We learned. We listened. And now, we're ready to take the next step."
Her smile widened as the logo behind her flared to life.
"We proudly announce the beta testing phase of our next-generation, full-immersion VR experience — Mythcore ReGenesis."
A hush passed over the room.
Then a wave of eager murmurs.
Nakamura explained the features, her voice perfectly modulated:
No pain simulationNo permanent deathBuilt-in tutorial systemCo-op parties and matchmaking from level oneSafe zones and guaranteed resurrection points
"This time," she said, "you don't need to suffer to play. You don't need to fear the unknown. You don't even need to be good at games. You just need to explore."
The audience applauded.
Social media lit up like wildfire.
#MythcoreReGenesis
#Gen7TechReturns
#NoPainNoProblem
On-screen influencers reacted live:
"Finally, a VR game that doesn't traumatize you.""I couldn't even make it past the tutorial in World Frontier. This one looks fun!""They really listened to the community this time."
No one remembered the truth.
Not the developers.
Not the board of directors.
Not even the core engineers who once built a world that bled when you cut it.
The old project was gone.
Erased.
Rebranded.
Repackaged.
Buried.
And yet, as the broadcast played in homes, cafes, phones, and shops across Japan — one boy stood at a bakery window, a melonpan in one hand, watching it from the corner of his eye.
His expression was unreadable.
The commercial played again on a nearby screen:
"Mythcore ReGenesis — where fantasy meets comfort."
Alex Elwood took a slow bite.
He didn't scoff.
He didn't frown.
He simply turned and walked away, the bell above the door jingling softly behind him.
In his mind, Ciel's voice whispered gently.
"They forgot what a world could be."
Alex nodded once.
"But I didn't."
And somewhere, beneath layers of silicon and illusion…
The truth still waited.
Silent.
And watching.
Later that afternoon, far from the stage lights and public streams, the mood inside Gen7Tech's upper floors was calm — even casual. Executives gathered in sleek glass conference rooms, sipping espresso and watching the analytics roll in. Viewer count: rising. Hashtag trends: top five worldwide. Sentiment: overwhelmingly positive.
In a nearby office, a team of lead engineers sat in front of massive multi-monitor setups, lines of code scrolling endlessly across the screens. One yawned. Another sipped canned coffee. The tension from two weeks ago — when World Frontier was still online — had vanished.
"Feels weird, doesn't it?" one murmured. "Same engine. Same bones. Just… defanged."
"Not weird," replied another. "Just market-friendly."
Their lead nodded without looking up. "We stripped out the pain feedback. Nerfed the AI aggression. Gave players a HUD, starter gear, spell shortcuts… all the stuff the focus groups wanted."
A pause.
"And let's be honest," he added, stretching, "it's still the World Frontier framework under the hood. Just dressed in new skin."
In a different department, a group of marketers reviewed new ad concepts — mockups of cheerful adventurers riding smiling wyverns, a casual-looking elf handing a sword to a blushing healer. One of the managers tapped the screen.
"This is good. Keep it light. Make it look empowering, not threatening."
The product director joined them, folding his arms as he surveyed the new branding.
"This is just a beta," he reminded them. "We'll test it first. Watch the response. If it holds, we greenlight a full title."
"And if not?"
"We cut it, tweak again, repackage. No risk."
He smiled faintly.
"We're not building a masterpiece. We're building something that sells."
They all nodded.
Behind them, on a wall-mounted screen, the new slogan played in a loop:
"Mythcore ReGenesis — Where Fantasy Meets Comfort."
None of them remembered what the framework once was.
None of them asked what it used to contain.
To them, World Frontier was just a prototype that didn't land — a harsh game that scared too many players away.
Now, it was a template.
A tool.
A shell.
And they would mold it into something the market wanted.
Whether it meant anything or not.
But elsewhere, one boy who remembered everything watched the world forget.
And he smiled quietly to himself.
Because only he knew that beneath the pastel colors and softened edges…
The soul of the real game was still buried deep in the code.
Waiting.
The glass-paneled lobby of Gen7Tech's central tower buzzed with the low murmur of voices — not from employees, but from visitors. A growing crowd had gathered beneath the polished ceilings and LED displays. Some had been invited for surveys. Others had simply shown up, unprompted, driven by curiosity… or fear.
Dozens of them had tried to enter World Frontier during the early trial period.
And failed.
Some had died within minutes in the simulation.
Some had never even made it past the third room.
All of them remembered what it felt like.
And those memories hadn't faded.
"I swear I still feel it," one man whispered, gripping his own arms as if warding off a chill. "It's been days. But when I close my eyes, I'm still there — in that room. With those eyes watching me."
A woman beside him nodded stiffly, pale. "I didn't even get to fight. I just… moved wrong, and something stabbed me from behind. I felt it. Cold. Like it went right into my spine. Then I woke up screaming."
A few others nearby listened but said nothing. Their faces were drawn, eyes tired. Not all had played — some had just heard the stories. Watched the reaction videos. Read the leaked testimonies.
But even secondhand, the fear had spread.
"I heard someone died in real life," someone muttered.
"No one died," another replied. "They made us sign waivers. Full physical screening. But…"
He trailed off.
Because everyone was thinking the same thing.
It didn't feel like a game.
And even though the project had been canceled — even though Gen7Tech now claimed to be moving on with a safer, friendlier title — the weight of what they had seen, even for a few minutes, hadn't vanished.
Not from their minds.
Not from their nerves.
And definitely not from their dreams.
A security guard stationed near the elevator kept an eye on them, arms folded.
A receptionist calmly repeated the official statement:
"World Frontier has been formally discontinued. Gen7Tech is not accepting questions regarding beta experiences or feedback from the original trial period. We invite you to look forward to our next-generation title, Mythcore ReGenesis, which offers a safe, comfortable adventure experience."
Her smile was perfect.
Polished.
Empty.
One boy near the wall, arms tucked into a worn jacket, muttered under his breath.
"Yeah… safe. Right."
He hadn't passed the trial either.
He'd only been in for three minutes.
But those three minutes had changed something in him.
And no amount of cheery marketing could erase it.
They had failed to enter the real world beneath the code.
But even failure had left scars.
And some of them… would never truly forget.
Gen7Tech Headquarters – Public Lobby
The polished lobby of Gen7Tech's central tower buzzed with low voices and echoing footsteps. Banners of Mythcore ReGenesis hung across digital displays, showcasing colorful characters, lush forests, and glowing towns with cheerful taglines:
"Adventure Awaits!"
"No Pain. Just Progress."
But gathered near the lobby's visitor station were dozens of players — people who had once tried to enter World Frontier… and failed.
Some had logged out in terror after their first in-game death.
Others had never reached the point where the VR helmet was granted.
They had faced the trial.
They had felt the pain.
And they remembered.
"I still dream about it," a young man whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Woke up sweating last week. All I did was walk down a hallway. And something… just tore me open."
Beside him, a girl gave a nervous laugh. "You think that's bad? I tried Mythcore ReGenesis this morning — it's not even the same species."
Several heads turned.
She pulled up her phone and tapped on a recorded clip: bright visuals, friendly music, soft combat with sparkles.
"Look at this. You can choose skills. Like actual buttons. Just press the 'Fireball' icon and boom — magic."
"Wait," another guy cut in. "No chanting? No formulas?"
"Nope. Just click. And no pain system. You take a hit, the screen shakes a bit, and your HP drops."
"What about crafting?" someone else asked skeptically.
She snorted. "Crafting? Please. You walk up to a forge, a crafting window pops up, and you pick from a list. Click the sword icon. Done."
The crowd was quiet for a moment.
Someone finally murmured, "So it's just a game now."
A few nodded.
A few didn't.
Some looked relieved.
Some… looked disappointed.
"It's like World Frontier never happened," one boy whispered. "They just erased it."
"Or buried it," another muttered. "Like it was too real to be allowed."
The receptionist, ever-smiling, stepped forward.
"If you're interested in trying the Mythcore ReGenesis beta, please scan this code. We're accepting new testers daily. Feedback is welcome!"
No mention of the pain. No mention of World Frontier at all.
The slate had been wiped clean.
And in its place — a world built to comfort.
Meanwhile – In the Developer Wing
Behind locked doors, in the chilled upper floors of the Gen7Tech tower, a group of developers and marketing leads reviewed post-announcement data.
Player onboarding: up 800%.
Positive sentiment: 93%.
Reported pain symptoms: 0%.
Most-used spell in beta: "Flame Surge."
Crafted items in first hour: over 12,000.
The director leaned back in his chair, smiling faintly.
"It's working."
An engineer nodded. "We just re-skinned the World Frontier engine. Capped difficulty. Removed the procedural AI, stripped out the pain layer, and layered in icons and input windows."
Another added, "Crafting's no longer freeform. It's all menu-based now — cleaner, less confusing."
The marketing rep tapped a graph. "Combat metrics are great. Players love instant spells. Just press and go."
Someone asked from the back, "What if people start digging into the code?"
The room was quiet for a beat.
Then the director said:
"They won't. This is just beta. We'll see how the response holds. If it's good, we go full launch."
"And if not?"
He shrugged. "Tweak. Rebrand. Try again."
No one questioned it.
To them, World Frontier was an overambitious error — something that pushed too far.
This?
This was sellable.
Predictable.
Safe.
Outside – One Witness
Near the glass windows of the building's outer plaza, a boy stood with earbuds in, watching the screen from a distance.
He had tried World Frontier once.
He hadn't made it past the trial.
Now, watching the Mythcore trailer full of bright colors and click-to-cast mechanics, he frowned slightly.
It looked… fun.
But it felt fake.
And somewhere, just past the memory of pain, he wondered what had been buried to make this world so easy.
He didn't know the name Alex Elwood.
But deep down, something told him:
Someone had survived what they all ran from.
And he had built the real frontier.
Chapter 52 – Profit and Ghosts
The boardroom buzzed with energy.
It had been only three days since the public beta of Mythcore ReGenesis launched — and already, Gen7Tech's analytics division was flooded with data. Positive feedback. Viral clips. Monetization potential.
A giant screen displayed live stats on the far wall:
Active Beta Users: 238,917
Average Session Time: 2.8 hours
Most Requested Features: Costumes, Mount Skins, Weapon FX, Housing Items
Projected Cosmetic Revenue (First Month): ¥3.2 billion
The Chief Marketing Officer leaned forward in his chair, eyes gleaming.
"This is better than we expected."
Across from him, the head of business development smiled, tapping her tablet.
"No item shop. No VR helmet release. No global rollout. And we're already going viral."
"We haven't even sold anything yet," she added. "They're just playing the beta at local branches. And still — every forum is filled with posts asking: 'When can we buy costumes? Mount skins? Emotes?'"
The CFO nodded. "We open the cosmetic store at launch. Attach the VR helmet as part of the premium bundle. Guaranteed sellout."
A young analyst hesitated. "Isn't it strange, though? That we haven't launched the VR helmet itself yet?"
The CMO waved it off.
"It's genius, not strange. Players have to come to us. Every branch is packed. There's already a waitlist in Osaka. We're bottling demand."
He turned to the CEO at the head of the table.
"And when we finally release the helmet with the full game—"
The CEO, Yui Nakamura, smiled calmly.
"—It becomes a cultural event."
Internal Memo – Brand Strategy Team
Subject: Those who pass all 3 trials in the World Frontier Test – Marketing Opportunity
Though no official mention of World Frontier remains in Gen7Tech's public materials, internal tracking systems quietly flagged 127 individuals — all former testers who had completed 3 trials and received VR helmets during the early phase.
Surprisingly, these 127 users had recently returned to company branches and installed the Mythcore ReGenesis beta without protest.
No questions.
No complaints.
No trace of memory.
They simply logged in and began playing.
The executive response?
"Use them."
They were quietly tagged as Class-S Influencer Units.
Their social media accounts — mostly inactive since World Frontier's trial period — were discreetly optimized. Rewards were funneled into their accounts: exclusive costumes, early access cosmetics, premium emotes.
No direct communication.
No explanation.
Just visibility.
"Let people see that they're playing."
"Make them look happy."
Marketing Office – Brainstorm Room
"We call them the Originals," one brand strategist pitched. "Give them subtle recognition. A golden frame on their nameplate. People will ask, 'How do I become one of them?'"
Another nodded eagerly. "They don't need to talk. They just need to be seen. Stream footage, screenshots, background crowd shots — just enough to build mystique."
"Make them aspirational," the manager added. "The kind of players who were 'there from the beginning.' People will pay just to feel close to them."
Someone laughed.
Meanwhile – One of the 127
In a local company VR suite in Sapporo, a young man sat still in the gaming chair, headset sealed to his head. His name was registered, but flagged only as Beta Tier – Legacy User.
On the screen outside, his avatar moved through Mythcore ReGenesis with calm rhythm. Friendly armor. Bright forest trail. Non-aggressive goblins.
He smiled faintly.
Didn't speak.
Didn't react when someone pointed at the golden nameplate above his character's head.
"Hey, that's one of those players. The Originals."
A kid beside him whispered, "No way. They're real?"
He didn't hear them.
Or maybe he didn't care.
Because whatever he had seen before this soft, colorful dream…
Was buried so deep that even his soul had forgotten it.
But deep inside the code…
Buried under the candy-colored layers of Mythcore ReGenesis...
Something else still stirred.
And it was watching the Originals.
One by one.
Silently waiting.
Everyone at Gen7Tech
They didn't remember.
Not the engineers refining the UI.
Not the marketers designing costume bundles.
Not the executives planning international rollout.
They spoke of World Frontier in passing, when they spoke of it at all — a failed prototype, a harsh game no one wanted. A technical milestone, perhaps. But nothing more.
Because they couldn't remember.
Because Ciel had made sure of that.
Long ago — on the day she chose Alex as her champion — she had used the last fragments of her will still present on Earth to gently sever the connection between World Frontier's creators and its true purpose.
It had not been an act of cruelty.
It had been a protective severance.
"I will use what strength I have left to influence the minds of those involved with this project…
Their memories of what this truly was will blur."
The architects of the gateway — the developers, designers, engineers — now remembered nothing of the dying world they once unknowingly connected to. Nothing of Ciel's voice whispering between lines of code. Nothing of why the helmet was ever built to transmit pain and will instead of pixels.
Now they believed:
World Frontier was just a simulation.It failed because it was "too realistic."It caused player trauma, dropout, and backlash.It was scrapped because the market wasn't ready.
No one questioned it.
No one remembered the deeper truth.
And in forgetting, their burden was lifted.
So was Ciel's.
She no longer had to anchor her will across two worlds.
No longer needed to split her strength between realities.
"It reduces the strain," she once told Alex quietly.
"And I no longer need them."
"I only need you."
So as Gen7Tech soared toward its next success — built atop a hollowed memory — no one knew what had truly been erased.
Except Alex.
And Ciel.
And perhaps, somewhere deep in the code…
A fragment that refused to sleep.
The celebration was winding down when the glass doors slid open again — and a group of engineers stepped onto the rooftop, faces flushed not from alcohol, but excitement.
One of them, still in his office badge and hoodie, held up a tablet as he approached the executives.
"We have an update," he said, barely containing his grin. "Final integration passed all QA checks. Servers are stable. The game build is complete."
The room stilled.
"What are you saying?" asked one executive, blinking.
The lead engineer's grin widened.
"I'm saying the full version of Mythcore ReGenesis will be ready for release… in one week."
There was a pause.
And then—
Applause.
Cheers.
Someone dropped their glass.
The CFO was already calculating pre-order revenue in his head. The marketing team was drafting announcement tweets before the champagne was even refilled.
Yui Nakamura turned to face the rooftop crowd, her expression bright but composed.
"One week," she said aloud.
"That's all it takes to turn a beta into a revolution."
She lifted her glass once more.
"Prepare the public announcement. We go live with the news tomorrow morning. Full game — one week. Include the VR helmet."
"And open Early Express access for premium pre-orders."
Executives nodded, phones already buzzing.
Across the world, branch offices were still packed with players.
In a few days, those lines would double.
And when the helmets finally shipped?
They wouldn't be selling a game.
They'd be selling a world.
Chapter 54 – Quiet Morning, Distant Storms
Sunday – 07:13 AM
The sunlight touched the edge of Alex's room like a gentle breath.
Warm.
Soft.
Undisturbed.
He opened his eyes before the alarm.
No pain. No alarms. No weight.
Just breath.
He sat up, the blanket falling away in perfect silence. The hum of the city beyond his window filtered in with the early summer breeze — distant traffic, the faint ring of a bicycle bell, wind brushing against laundry hung outside.
He moved automatically.
Shower. Towel. Fresh clothes.
Each motion crisp, efficient — not because he rushed, but because he no longer knew how to move slowly.
He stepped into the kitchen, started the rice, sliced the scallions, stirred the miso.
A perfectly ordinary morning.
And yet…
His thoughts were already elsewhere.
By the time the kettle whistled, Ciel had already returned to him — not with urgency, but with quiet presence, like a warm thread woven into his thoughts.
"Good morning, Alex."
He didn't answer at first.
Not with words.
Just a quiet nod.
Then he said, as he cracked an egg into the pan:
"They're celebrating now."
Ciel's voice softened. "Yes."
"The company." He stirred gently. "They've erased the past — the pain, the risk, the connection to you. And now they're thriving."
A pause.
Then: "Does that bother you?"
He plated the food, turned off the stove.
Then said quietly:
"No."
He sat down at the table.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
"I think it's a good ending for them."
He spoke slowly, calmly.
"Their memories were altered so they wouldn't have to carry what they couldn't understand. Now they're smiling. Profiting. Building things that don't hurt people. That's… peace, in its way."
Ciel remained silent for a moment.
Then her voice came, like a gentle wind through glass:
"It does reduce my burden."
"I no longer have to hold my will across two worlds."
"They're free from it. And so am I."
Alex nodded.
"Then it was worth it."
He took a bite of rice — light, perfect, clean.
"Even if they don't know what they lost…"
"…at least they didn't lose themselves."
The morning passed like a breath that never broke.
No news alerts.
No monster alarms.
Just a calm city and a world untouched by the war that had once nearly claimed it.
Alex stepped outside around nine, walking beneath a sky free of stormclouds, his hands in his pockets.
He watched the trains pass.
The vendors open their stalls.
Children laugh over toy vending machines.
And in his mind, Ciel whispered:
"You could tell them the truth, one day."
He shook his head slightly.
"No."
"Let them keep their ending."
"Even if it's not the real one?"
"Especially because it's not."
He paused at a bakery window, watching a screen overhead.
The broadcast had begun.
"Gen7Tech announces official release of Mythcore ReGenesis in one week! VR Helmets available for pre-order now! Early Express access opens today!"
The crowd around the shop buzzed with excitement.
A boy pointed at the screen. A girl held up her phone, already scanning the pre-order QR code.
No one questioned the origin.
No one remembered the trials.
Only Alex stood still.
Only he knew.
And he smiled — not bitterly, but with the quiet acceptance of someone who had seen too much and decided to carry it alone.
Because peace for others was enough.
Even if it meant silence for him.
"Let them build their new world," he murmured.
"I've already saved the old one."
Streamer No. 084: "Original"
The screen flickered with bright skies and cheerful music.
On the popular platform LoopStream, a livestream titled:
"Grinding Forest XP & Showing Off New Mythcore Emotes!"
#MythcoreReGenesis #BetaTest #OriginalStreamer
The chat was active — emotes flooding in.
[glowfox]: omg he's an Original??
[leaveshot]: look at that golden frame around his name!!
[softbread]: he has the new mount skin too?? early drop? no way!
Inside the stream, the avatar of User 084 — a silver-haired swordsman in blue armor — danced in a sunny field while goblins stood idle nearby.
His golden-framed nameplate read: "@Vernal"
The streamer laughed lightly, adjusting his headset.
"Alright chat, chill. Yeah, I got the skyfox skin early — devs just dropped it in this morning. No, I don't know why. Maybe it's 'cause I'm an Original or something." laughs again
"Nah, I just logged in like normal and it was in my box."
He turned his character toward the crafting village and opened a window with a click.
The crafting interface glowed gently: icons, recipes, instant previews.
"Let's build that radiant longsword," he said. "Click… and done."
The screen sparkled. Applause emojis filled chat.
"Easy, right?" he grinned. "This game's so smooth. Way better than some of those old-school survival sims."
"You guys remember Frontline or whatever it was called?"
"Man… can't believe that one even got greenlit."
He chuckled again and clicked into his emote wheel, making his avatar spin and wave.
"Anyway — Mythcore's the future, man."
The chat surged with hearts.
No fear.
No tension.
No memory of pain.
No trace of the shattered world that once bled beneath their feet.
The stream continued — ordinary, vibrant, untouched.
Chapter 55 – Two Worlds, One Silence
Monday – 07:46 AM
The bell above the school gate rang as Alex stepped through, his satchel slung casually over one shoulder. The courtyard buzzed with energy — students in uniforms, summer sleeves rolled up, voices blending into the usual weekday rhythm.
His steps were quiet, even.
Measured.
Not out of effort, but because he no longer needed to think about walking among people who didn't know him — couldn't know him.
Inside his mind, Ciel's voice stirred like a calm stream.
"You don't feel tired, even after everything."
"This body doesn't fatigue anymore," he replied silently, eyes scanning the second-floor walkway. "But I still enjoy the quiet."
"You're different here."
"Because here, I don't need to be anything."
The two of them walked in silence — one with his feet, the other with her voice.
08:02 AM – Classroom 3-A
The desk was still there.
Back row, third from the window. Unbothered. Untouched.
Alex took his seat without a sound. Outside, the breeze moved the trees gently. The hum of ceiling fans filled the space between morning greetings.
A few seats down, a small group of boys huddled around one phone, grinning.
"Did you see that skyfox mount? Limited-time drop."
"I pre-registered for Early Express. You get extra cosmetics if you link your LoopStream account."
"Mythcore's gonna kill every other VR game. It's actually fun."
Another chimed in from behind:
"One of the Originals showed up on my server. The golden nameplate looked insane. Everyone stopped to look."
Alex didn't join the conversation.
But he listened.
Not with jealousy.
Not with disdain.
Just… silence.
Ciel's voice returned softly.
"They talk about it like it's just another game."
"For them, it is."
He turned his gaze toward the window again.
"And that's probably for the best."
Scene Shift – 08:04 AM
The air shifted.
It always did when she walked into the room.
The idle chatter dulled. Students looked up instinctively — some smiling, others adjusting their posture, some simply caught staring for a few seconds longer than necessary.
She was the school's star.
Top grades.
Unshaken elegance.
Poised like a painting, but living — always moving with effortless grace.
Her hair was long and straight, a deep obsidian with just a trace of blue under sunlight. Her uniform was crisp, but never stiff. Her eyes carried a sharpness, not of cruelty, but of clarity — the kind that saw through people without saying a word.
Even the teachers spoke to her with a gentler tone.
No one questioned why.
She didn't demand admiration.
She simply was admired.
As she stepped into the classroom, a breeze followed — light caught in her hair, the room briefly drawn toward her presence like metal toward a lodestone.
Students turned.
Some smiled.
Others whispered.
And in the corner of the room, Alex simply glanced up once…
…and then looked away.
Not out of disinterest.
But because something in him told him she was watching, too.
Even when no one noticed.
Outside the school gates, the morning sun touched the polished windows of a sleek black car — its surface mirrored the sidewalk, and its emblem bore the mark of one of the city's most respected families.
The rear door opened with a soft hydraulic whisper.
From within, Airi Tachibana stepped out — black hair tied in a sharp ponytail, her uniform immaculate, her steps deliberate. Her blue eyes scanned the school grounds with silent familiarity.
She walked with quiet composure.
A presence that drew eyes without ever seeking them.
But today… something was different.
As she reached the courtyard, a man in a black suit stepped out from behind the gates — lean, expressionless, with the unmistakable bearing of private security.
He bowed slightly.
"Lady Airi. Apologies for the public approach."
She halted, calm but alert.
"What is it?"
The man's voice remained low.
"A Class-C magical signature has been detected within this district."
"We believe an unauthorized magician has entered the city — likely hiding in a civilian zone."
"Current estimates suggest they are disguised within this school."
Airi's eyes widened.
Just slightly.
But enough.
"What…?"
The man's gaze held steady.
"Your father has requested that you observe. Nothing more — unless provoked."
Airi stood frozen for a breath.
The breeze stirred her ponytail.
And the bell rang, breaking the moment like glass.
She turned silently and walked into the school building — composed on the surface.
But shaken.
Because in this city, magic was not supposed to exist.
Not anymore.
Chapter 56 – The Scent of Ash
Third period.
History class.
Sunlight pooling across wooden desks.
Chalk scribbling out dates.
Students half-listening, half-drifting.
Alex sat quietly at his desk — back row, third from the window — body still, thoughts adrift.
Until it hit him.
A ripple.
Small. Focused.
Sharp enough to cut through the noise.
Not sound.
Not motion.
Mana.
He blinked once.
"…Wait."
"Is there magic in this world?"
Before he could finish the thought, a faint tremor rolled through the classroom floor — too subtle to be natural, too intentional to be a coincidence.
"Eh? Was that an earthquake?"
"It stopped already."
"Weird…"
Alex rose slightly in his seat, his mind accelerating.
No tectonic pressure. No regional stress pattern. The fluctuation didn't match any fault line.
Not an earthquake. A trigger.
He turned his head slowly toward the window — and saw him.
A figure cloaked head-to-toe in ragged black stood near the perimeter of the school — one hand tracing arcane patterns in the air. His movements were erratic, fingers twitching through glyphs, lips moving too fast.
Alex's eyes narrowed.
Long incantation. Open-air casting. Inscribed rings.
Crude.
Inefficient.
His thoughts sharpened.
"So this world's mages still need verbal chants and hand signs…"
"They're practically drawing magic with crayons."
He tapped the side of his desk once, idly calculating the spell structure.
"If I used that same energy with a compressed formula array… I could fold that spell ten times smaller and fire it in under a second."
He watched with detached focus.
Their magic was real.
But it was primitive.
And then—
"Halt!"
The word rang across the courtyard like a blade striking stone.
From the second-floor balcony, Airi Tachibana descended with perfect control — not falling, but stepping through gravity as if she had permission to ignore it.
The cloaked magician twisted, interrupted mid-incantation.
Three men in black suits flanked her — emerging from nowhere with seamless precision.
The magician snarled and extended his arm.
A ring of glyphs exploded into the air — unstable and flickering — before igniting into a spire of flame that tore toward the second floor.
Students gasped. Someone screamed.
But Airi was already in motion.
She pulled a talisman from her sleeve — slim, etched with precise ink.
"Barrier: Silent Flame."
The charm caught the wind and dissolved mid-air.
The fire collapsed in on itself instantly, snuffed out before it touched glass.
Alex watched.
"Clever layering. Reactionary wards. It's good control," he thought. "But it's still just layering bandages on top of a broken skeleton."
He leaned back slightly, arms crossed.
"Their spell architecture is too verbose. Too slow. Too exposed."
"This isn't battle magic. It's ceremonial."
The magician tried to flee.
Flames curling at his heels, he broke through the outer gate.
Airi followed, along with the suited agents — silent, fast, precise.
Inside the building, students pressed against windows, shouting.
"Are they shooting something? Is this a stunt?"
"I saw magic — real magic!"
One of the suited men paused at the stairwell and muttered as he prepared another containment glyph:
"Great. We're going to have to wipe their memories again."
"I just remembered what day it is…"
Fifteen Minutes Later – Classroom Sweep
The magician had been caught.
Unconscious. Restrained. Thrown into a black car behind the gym.
The incident had left no damage.
But far too many witnesses.
The agents returned, methodical and quiet — moving classroom to classroom.
Each room paused as the suppression field rolled over it. Students froze. Time slowed.
Spells were cast — quick memory wipes, like breath over glass.
Voices resumed. Faces relaxed. Curiosity vanished.
The magic was invisible to almost everyone.
Almost.
Room 3-A
Everything seemed normal.
The man in black entered. He checked the formation once more and released the glyph.
A shimmer swept across the desks like a silent tide.
The room fell still.
But at the back of the class, Alex sat completely aware.
He could've shut down the field before it activated.
He could've blocked the spell with a thought.
But instead…
He let it pass over him.
Relaxed his muscles.
Dulled his eyes.
Played along.
The man watched him for a second longer than the others.
But eventually, turned and walked out.
Alex blinked once, fully alert.
Inside his mind, Ciel's voice coiled softly.
"You're more powerful than all of them combined. And yet…"
"I chose to be quiet," he murmured. "For now."
Outside the windows, the sky was still blue.
Inside the room, the class returned to normal.
But in Alex's mind, one thing had changed.
Magic existed here.
But it was centuries behind.
Chapter 57 – Chains and Ashes
The cell was quiet.
Deep beneath the Tachibana estate, no sound from the city reached here. No echo of passing trains. No trace of the school bell that had rung just hours earlier.
Only the soft, relentless buzz of reinforced binding wards, pulsing against etched stone and sacred sealwork.
The man sat chained at the center — his cloak stripped, his head bowed low. Wrists bound with mana-draining cuffs laced in iron and woven silk. Every time he tried to summon even a flicker of magic, the seal constricted like an invisible noose around his lungs.
Ilya Pavlichenko.
His name meant nothing to the students he nearly condemned.
But in the world of hidden orders, fractured alliances, and sanctified excommunication, it was a name whispered with both fear and disdain.
Airi Tachibana stood behind reinforced glass, arms folded, three men in black flanking her. She said nothing for a long moment — only watched the figure slumped against the cell floor.
Finally:
"What have you found?"
One of the agents stepped forward, tapping his tablet. A floating dossier projected silently beside her — glowing softly with the seal of international arcane enforcement.
"Confirmed. Name: Ilya Pavlichenko. Russian national. Formerly Third Eastern Sanctum, Moscow."
"Crimes include: unauthorized spell replication, relic desecration, arcane smuggling…"
"And—" the man paused slightly, "—the Vatican issued a formal condemnation last year."
Airi's gaze sharpened. "And what was he doing in Japan?"
The second agent answered — older, colder, voice flat with certainty.
"Running."
He pulled up another file: layered documents, Vatican dispatches, Russian blacklists, and an encrypted directive titled:
Excommunication Order – Class S: Blasphemer Protocol.
"He fled after a failed seizure in Volgograd. Vanished into the Eastern flow. Japan is neutral. Soft surveillance. Sparse arcane oversight."
"This city, in particular, offered cover. No formal magical institutions. No licensed sanctums. An ideal place to disappear."
Airi frowned faintly.
"He wasn't sent here."
"No," the man confirmed.
"He came here to vanish."
Then the third agent — unusually silent until now — added something darker.
"But he had a plan."
Newly Recovered Intel – Ritual Intent
The screen shifted to a projected schematic. A magic circle, wide and complex, inscribed in layers of blood-bound glyphs and forbidden Slavic sigils.
Its center was marked with three kanji:
命 (Life).
獻 (Sacrifice).
昇 (Ascend).
"This was found folded in his cloak lining," the agent explained.
"It's a spell structure — modified from a pre-Christian rite of transference."
"He planned to harvest life force from non-mage civilians… and convert it into a mass mana gain."
"The target range of the circle was… a school."
Silence stretched.
Airi's expression darkened.
"He meant to use the students."
"Yes. All of them."
Interrogation Chamber – One Hour Earlier
He hadn't spoken much.
But when the pain was applied — resonance pulses, truth-fields, and ancient pressure seals — he finally gasped between clenched teeth:
"They would've died painlessly…"
"Too many of them… wasting that kind of spirit, day after day…"
"I would've turned their lives into something useful…"
One agent struck him across the jaw.
He coughed blood.
And laughed.
Now – Tachibana Estate, Inner Hall
Airi stood alone as the agents finalized the paperwork.
Beyond the hall, paper talismans fluttered in the garden wind. Silence wrapped around her like a robe.
"He didn't come to attack," she murmured.
"He came to disappear…"
"And found something worse."
The Vatican had already responded.
They would send an envoy within the week.
Ilya Pavlichenko would be transported to Rome.
Not to be questioned.
But to be judged.
Chapter 58 – The World Beneath the Silence
There was a time when the world did not hide.
When gods walked among mortals, draped in flame, storm, and starlight. When vampires ruled cities after dark, their courts slick with charm and blood. When witches stirred oceans with their voices and werewolves howled not just at moons, but at ancient laws. When fae stepped through mirrors, and dragons coiled beneath the earth like smoldering veins.
The world once pulsed with magic.
But humanity changed.
They grew louder, more numerous, more certain of their own senses.
And so the supernatural world withdrew.
Not vanished. Not defeated.
Simply… hidden.
It began with an accord — one struck in secret among ancient powers: gods, spirits, vampire lords, witch covens, shifter clans, forgotten dragons. Even beings that had no name, only hunger and memory. Together, they chose silence.
The world must forget.
Magic would remain—but out of sight.
Gods would step back—become myth.
Monsters would dress like men.
And the supernatural would dissolve into folklore.
In exchange, humans would be allowed to thrive.
The balance would be preserved.
And so the Veil was born — not a wall, but a condition. One that kept reality quiet, buried under centuries of noise, technology, disbelief, and entertainment.
Now, in the modern age, people laugh at the idea of gods and beasts.
Witches are fictional. Vampires are romantic tropes. Magic is a metaphor.
Supernatural games are just that—games.
And the supernatural world is fine with that.
They let humanity amuse itself with fantasy. Even the gods watch with distant smiles.
They've seen Mythcore ReGenesis. Some even play it.
To them, it's just another VR distraction — flashy, shallow, fun.
None of them suspect the truth.
Not the hidden vampire dynasties.
Not the fae masquerading as idols and diplomats.
Not the priests still exorcising quietly behind closed doors.
Not even the gods themselves.
No one knows what World Frontier was.
No one knows what Alex Elwood is.
Because he came from beyond even their vision.
Not born of pact or prophecy.
Not shaped by bloodline or fate.
Not part of the old world or its shadows.
He stands outside of it all.
And so, the supernatural community continues its slumber — watching, hiding, maintaining the Veil.
Unaware that the most dangerous being on the planet is not a god…
…but a quiet seventeen-year-old boy who simply hasn't needed to act.
Not yet.
The Vatican, Hidden Office Beneath the Papal Archives
In a chamber lit by eternal flame, behind walls that had not been touched by sunlight in eight centuries, a bell chimed once.
A robed figure stood at the far end of the room, gazing into a pool of clear water that reflected nothing of the chamber — only distant places, distant sins.
Another priest approached quietly and offered a scroll sealed in red wax.
"It's confirmed. The rogue has been captured."
The first figure did not turn.
His voice was old, worn from silence, but still carried the edge of finality.
"Ilya Pavlichenko…"
He breathed the name like the end of a long hunt.
"Finally."
He rolled the scroll open, eyes scanning quickly, already preparing for what came next.
"Send the emissary. Bring him back to Rome."
A pause.
"And confirm that all witnesses to the incident have had their memories erased. I want no trace left behind."
The priest bowed.
"Yes, Cardinal."
Moscow, Department of Arcane Affairs
The room was dim.
Only the glow of a single rune-lit screen illuminated the long table.
A suited man in his forties leaned back in his chair, reading the secured transmission projected in pale red.
Another official entered quietly, closing the door behind him.
"It's done," the first man said without looking up.
"The Vatican has him."
"Confirmation?"
"Direct. High clearance. He's already in binding custody."
There was a moment of silence between them.
Then a quiet sigh.
"Good," the second man said. "Let the Church deal with it."
"They will," the first man replied. "They're already preparing the trial."
The second man looked out the narrow window into the snow-covered courtyard below.
"He'll suffer."
"Yes," the first agreed. "And he should. We gave him a place to learn, and he answered with heresy and fire."
The second man turned.
"Do we protest the handover?"
"No. We agreed years ago. Anything that violates divine sanctum protocols is theirs to handle. No nation interferes with Article Nine."
The first man nodded.
"Besides," he added quietly, "what the Vatican does to heretics…"
He paused.
"Even death isn't the worst part."
They said nothing more.
And outside, the snow continued to fall — soft, clean, and unaware of the silence beneath it.
Chapter 59 – Quiet Streets, Hidden Things
The sky was clear.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled across rooftops, warm but fading — casting long shadows that softened the noise of the city. Students filtered out of schools, filling sidewalks with chatter and footsteps. The world moved forward.
And Alex walked through it, as usual.
Satchel on one shoulder. Uniform crisp. Pace calm. No urgency.
But inside his mind, everything was silent and sharp — the kind of silence that noticed everything.
Halfway down the main street, he stopped in front of a narrow building wedged between a stationery store and an old tea shop. The sign overhead was aged wood with hand-brushed kanji:
青庭書房 – Aoniwa Bookstore
His usual place.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside.
The scent of paper, ink, and dust greeted him like a familiar friend.
Books lined the shelves in quiet towers — classics, occult manuscripts, children's stories, poetry anthologies, all arranged with lazy precision.
And behind the counter, as always, was her.
The shop owner.
A beautiful woman, perhaps in her late twenties. Pale skin. Long black hair draped over one shoulder. A kimono she wore even in summer, as if time had never told her to change. She was asleep, head resting on her folded arms behind the register.
Alex approached quietly and placed a new release on the counter.
He didn't say anything at first.
But after a few seconds…
"Excuse me."
The woman stirred, blinking once before lifting her head slowly. Her eyes were pale grey — sharp, but not hostile.
"Mm… ah, Alex-kun. You always show up when I'm dreaming."
Her voice was soft, sleepy, almost too relaxed.
"Book again?"
He nodded once.
She scanned it slowly.
And that was when he noticed it.
Mana.
Faint. Controlled. Not active. But unmistakably present.
It swirled around her like a breath she didn't bother to exhale — as if her body naturally radiated it, even in sleep. Not human. Not quite.
Alex said nothing.
He only watched her hand move — slow, elegant — as she bagged the book and handed him his change.
"You always choose the quiet stories," she said. "Makes me feel like the world still has gentle people in it."
Alex took the bag with a polite nod.
"Thank you."
"Come again," she yawned, resting her head back down. "Or don't. You always find your way here anyway."
The bell chimed again as he stepped outside.
He walked.
Past corner cafés. Past an old flower shop. Past a bicycle repair stall run by a hunched old man who never spoke much.
And now… he noticed it everywhere.
Faint mana trails.
So subtle, a normal mage wouldn't detect them. But to Alex — whose INT and perception had been integrated from World Frontier — they shone like quiet signals layered beneath the skin of the world.
That florist?
The water buckets had warding glyphs etched into the iron handles.
That old man?
He carried a toolbelt with charms disguised as screws.
That teenager sweeping the alley behind the café?
Not human.
Maybe foxfolk. Maybe something older.
They were everywhere.
But no one noticed.
Because no one could.
Alex didn't speak. Didn't stop. Didn't reach out.
He just walked.
Quiet.
Observing.
Accepting.
This world had supernatural beings.
Living peacefully. Pretending.
They weren't a threat.
They weren't hiding out of fear.
They were upholding the Veil — the illusion of a world without magic.
And now, Alex could see all of it.
Not because he tore the veil down.
But because he had grown past it.
At the next corner, a cat meowed from the roof of a vending machine.
Alex looked up.
Its eyes glowed faintly gold before it turned away.
He didn't follow.
He didn't need to.
This world was full of secrets.
But to him, they were just… normal.
Another quiet part of his daily walk home.
Chapter 60 – The Emissary in White
The stone paths of the Tachibana estate had been swept clean.
Evening light filtered through the paper-paneled hallways. The inner courtyard reflected faint ripples of wind on still water, talismans fluttering quietly from the branches above.
Inside the secure wing, the air was tighter — wards flaring softly along the perimeter. At the heart of it, Ilya Pavlichenko remained bound and silent, still unconscious, breathing faintly through gritted teeth.
In the reception hall, Airi stood in her formal attire — a modified navy uniform with ceremonial patterns etched in silver thread across the collar. She stood beside her grandfather, the head of the family, along with two uncles and one senior attendant.
They were prepared.
The emissary had arrived.
The doors slid open.
And in stepped a woman in white — robed, gloved, and radiant. Her veil fluttered slightly, though she wore no hood. Beneath the soft fabric, her features were ageless — youthful, but with a composure that came only from surviving too many years in silence.
Her presence was calm. Measured.
But when she saw Airi, her eyes lit up with warmth.
"Oh my, is that little Airi?"
The room stiffened at the informality, but Airi blinked, visibly caught off-guard.
"S-Sister Mariam… you still say that?"
"How could I not?" The nun stepped forward with a teasing smile. "Last time I saw you, you couldn't even hold a talisman straight."
Airi turned a slight shade pinker, quickly bowing. "I've… improved since then."
"So I've heard. Deflecting flames in midair, subduing a rogue heretic. Very impressive."
Sister Mariam leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a playful hush.
"So… do you have a boyfriend now?"
Airi blinked rapidly. Her composure cracked.
"W-What? Of course not! I've been focusing on school and training and—"
Her voice trailed off as the warmth of the room pressed in around her.
She looked away for just a moment.
And in her mind… a name rose, uninvited.
Alex.
She had never spoken to him.
Never once exchanged a word.
But she had seen him — calm, focused, perfectly still even when the world spun out of control.
He was quiet. He was strong. He never drew attention, but always acted when needed.
He had that strange presence — as though the world would rearrange itself if he merely stood a little too still.
He wasn't flashy. He wasn't loud.
He was her type.
Airi shook the thought out of her head.
"No… no boyfriend yet," she said quickly, regaining her calm.
"Mmhm." Mariam smirked knowingly.
Behind them, one of the attendants cleared his throat.
"Shall we proceed with the transfer?"
"Of course," Mariam said, turning professional in an instant. "I'll take custody of the prisoner now. Your wards are excellent, but we'll reinforce him with holy bindings during transport."
"Do you need an escort?"
"No. He won't wake. And even if he does… he won't be moving again."
She turned to Airi once more, softer now.
"You've grown strong, Airi. But don't let that strength turn into stillness."
"Stay warm, alright?"
Airi bowed. "Yes, Sister."
The nun nodded, then stepped toward the corridor where the captive awaited.
As the doors slid shut behind her, Airi remained still for a moment longer — hand at her side, heart strangely unsettled.
In her mind, that name surfaced again.
Alex Elwood.
Even though they had never met…
Even though they had never spoken…
Her instincts whispered:
He wasn't ordinary.
And perhaps — neither was she.
Later That Evening – Elwood Residence
The house was quiet.
Alex stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, gently plating the last of the grilled fish alongside a side of tamagoyaki and fresh miso soup. Steam rose in gentle curls. The rice cooker clicked off with perfect timing.
He glanced at the clock.
She would be home soon.
Today was the day his sister, Alice, was returning from her university field trip to Australia.
It had been over a week.
The house had felt quieter than usual — not in sound, but in presence.
And even though he never said it aloud… he missed her.
He set the table, adjusted the chopsticks, and turned off the stove. Everything was ready.
The front door unlocked with a familiar click.
"I'm back—!"
Her voice rang through the entryway — cheerful, bright, tired from travel but still unmistakably her.
She stepped inside with her bag slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the room, then widening as she saw him in the kitchen.
"You cooked!" she gasped.
He looked up with a calm smile.
"Welcome home."
Alice didn't wait.
She dropped her things without hesitation and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.
"I missed you so much!" she said against his shoulder.
"You were gone for a week, not a year," he replied softly.
"Still!"
She squeezed him again before pulling back and looking up at him with a grin.
"You even made the omelet rolls just the way I like them. You do love me."
He raised an eyebrow. "I never said I didn't."
"I'll allow it."
She let out a laugh, then grabbed her bag — but not before reaching over and grabbing his satchel too.
"I'll take your things to your room. You cooked. Fair trade."
Before he could protest, she was already halfway down the hallway.
Alex exhaled lightly and turned back to the food.
It was moments like these that reminded him: even with all his power, even with all the quiet dangers moving beneath the surface of the world...
This was why he fought.
This was what he protected.
A quiet life.
A warm meal.
A sister's smile.
Chapter 61 – The Truth She Carried
The night was calm.
A distant cicada called outside the window, and the soft hum of the refrigerator blended with the silence of their small home. In the living room, Alex sat alone, sipping warm tea, the lamplight casting gentle shadows across the low table.
He knew she was nearby.
He could feel it — not with magic, not with power, just through the rhythm of her steps. Uneven. Hesitant. The weight of something unspoken pressing against her shoulders.
Then she appeared, lingering in the doorway.
Alice.
Still in her hoodie from earlier, hair half-dried, eyes lowered.
"Hey…" she said, voice quiet.
Alex looked up. "What's wrong?"
She hesitated.
Then crossed the room and sat across from him, legs folded beneath her. Her fingers fidgeted in her sleeves.
"I've been thinking about something," she murmured. "Actually… I've been thinking about it for a long time."
Alex didn't interrupt.
He simply watched her — calm, steady, giving her space.
"You know how they always told us our parents were overseas working? That it was just some normal job? That they'd be home when their contract ended?"
He nodded once.
"It's not that simple."
She took a breath.
"They're not just working abroad. They're… fighting."
"They're demon hunters."
The words hung in the air, heavy, uncertain.
"I know how it sounds," she added quickly. "But I've seen enough. Read things. Watched the signs. Even before the funeral lie they told us years ago. They're not dead — they're alive, and they're doing something dangerous."
"Hunting monsters."
Her voice tightened.
"They didn't want us to know. Maybe to protect us. Maybe to keep us out of it. But I've known for a while now."
She looked up, bracing herself.
"I just… didn't know if I should tell you. I thought you'd laugh. Or think I'd gone crazy. Or—"
"I believe you."
Her words cut off.
She blinked. "…What?"
Alex nodded.
"I believe you."
Alice stared at him in stunned silence.
"You're serious?"
"I am."
She blinked again. "Why?"
He exhaled slowly, setting his tea aside.
"Because I've seen things too."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The truth he carried — the corrupted gods, the dead world, the AI that wasn't AI — was too deep, too far. If he spoke it, he wouldn't sound like someone who believed in monsters.
He'd sound like one.
So he left it there.
And it was enough.
Alice let out a slow, shaky breath.
Then smiled — not out of amusement, but out of sheer relief.
"I really thought you were going to call me nuts."
"You're not."
She reached across the table, bumping his knuckles with hers.
"You're a better brother than I thought."
"You just found out now?"
She laughed — the sound light, clean, like glass catching light.
After a moment, her voice softened again.
"There's one more thing."
Alex glanced up.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm a magician too. Not a strong one — I can barely light a candle without messing it up. I haven't trained properly. But… I can feel mana. I can use basic charms. I've known for a while that I wasn't completely ordinary."
He didn't look surprised.
She continued.
"I also know about the supernatural community. The one that hides behind the modern world. Vampires, spirits, witches, werewolves — they're all real. They're everywhere. Most people just don't see them."
"There was a pact, a long time ago. All the old powers — gods, clans, monsters — agreed to step into the shadows. Let humanity forget. Let belief fade. It's how the world stayed balanced."
"But it's still there. Just beneath the surface. The Veil keeps people from seeing it."
She looked at him carefully.
"But I think you can see it too… can't you?"
Alex paused.
Then gave her a small nod.
"I can now."
They didn't speak after that.
They didn't need to.
In the quiet of their small home, under the glow of a single lamp and the scent of warm tea, two siblings sat together — both finally, silently, aware of the same world.
And neither of them felt alone anymore.
Chapter 62 – The Crimson Court
The meeting room was carved from stone older than most nations.
High in the Carpathian Mountains, beneath the facade of a centuries-old monastery, the Crimson Court convened — not in dark robes or blood-stained cloaks, but in tailored suits, silk gloves, and quiet elegance. Mahogany chairs circled an obsidian table inlaid with sigils of lineage and rule.
Twelve vampire lords sat together, their eyes calm, their voices measured. They were ancient, refined, and — above all — wealthy.
No human ever left this place alive.
No digital signal ever entered.
They preferred it that way.
"The Romanian territory's mana lines remain stable," said Lord Solmir, brushing nonexistent dust from his cuff. "Our wards have held since the last purification."
"Good. Our blood shipments from Hungary have increased as expected," murmured Lady Valtesa, eyes half-closed. "The humans produce cleaner stock now. That medical breakthrough two years ago improved preservation."
"And legally sourced," added Lord Bellenov, lips curling into a smirk. "Our compliance records were submitted to the Council last quarter. We remain… politically correct."
They chuckled.
There was no need to hunt anymore.
They didn't stalk alleys.
They owned biotech firms, blood banks, shipping networks, and pharmaceutical conglomerates.
They weren't monsters in cloaks.
They were board members in shadow.
It had become an ongoing joke across the supernatural world:
"If the fae run the forest, and the dragons hoard gold... the vampires own the banks."
Some even said:
"Vampires are the Rothschilds of the supernatural world."
And no one — not even the other factions — could prove them wrong.
"Let's move to internal matters," said Lord Kaelis, the eldest. His voice was like granite dipped in wine. "The matter of bloodline dilution."
The table tensed.
"You mean the intermarriages," Bellenov muttered.
"I mean the heir problem," Kaelis replied.
"Some of them want to marry humans. Some even attend universities."
"And worse," grumbled an older lord near the far end, "they're obsessed with that game."
"Mythcore ReGenesis," Valtesa sighed.
"Yes. That."
A projection flared silently in the air above the table. Surveillance images — grainy, low-resolution — of vampire heirs in VR booths at Gen7Tech company centers. Some wore their crests in plain sight. Others disguised themselves, but their auras gave them away.
"We tracked at least sixteen noble offspring attending human testing sites," the analyst reported.
"They preordered the Early Access," muttered one lord, exasperated.
"One of them logged two hundred hours in the beta."
A pause.
"Two hundred?"
"Yes, my lord."
"They're vampires. They don't even need to sleep."
That drew another round of weary chuckles.
"What are they doing?" Lord Solmir grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're nobles. They could be negotiating trade deals or maintaining bloodline alliances. Instead, they're pretending to be blacksmiths and goblin slayers?"
"They're playing," Lady Valtesa said, exasperated but amused. "They were raised in private estates, trained in etiquette, taught to speak six languages and two dead ones. This is how they act out."
"This is rebellion now?" Kaelis asked flatly. "Back in my day, rebellion meant starting a war with a rival clan. Not wearing leather pants and customizing your elf avatar."
"Would you rather they duel each other to the death again?" Valtesa said, arching a brow.
A long pause.
Then Kaelis sighed. "...No."
"One of them," said Lord Bellenov, tapping a screen, "spent seven hours straight harvesting mushrooms in a digital forest. Mushrooms, Kaelis. His grandfather once burned down a basilica."
"Another heir," Valtesa added, scrolling through a report, "got banned from the public booth in Berlin for trying to use hypnosis on an NPC romance option."
Kaelis groaned. "By the Night, we raised a generation of gamers."
"I blame the blood substitutes," Solmir muttered. "No primal instincts anymore. All they crave is 'daily login bonuses.'"
"They preordered the Early Access pack before we even heard about it," Bellenov added. "They didn't consult the family. Didn't request permission. They used their personal cards."
A beat of collective horror.
"We raised them to be apex predators," Kaelis whispered, "and now they spend their immortality farming digital potatoes."
"Honestly," Valtesa said, pouring herself more wine, "I think they're happier."
"Happy? They're vampires. Happiness is not in the curriculum."
Another sigh.
Kaelis stared at the ceiling like it had betrayed him personally.
"Fine," he muttered. "Keep watching them."
"And if the game turns out to be cursed?"
"Then we'll send them a polite letter reminding them not to sell their souls to loot boxes."
A few chuckles followed.
Then Kaelis sighed again, looking into his untouched goblet.
"Let the children play."
Just as the meeting began to wind down, a final projection flickered to life over the obsidian table.
"As requested," said the analyst, "we compiled the in-game usernames used by your noble heirs."
The vampire lords leaned forward.
The list unfolded slowly across the air — each name tagged with a corresponding crest.
And silence fell.
BloodNovaNightkill
LordOfCrimsonChaos
VelvetDarknessΩ
XxDraculMistxX
AshenBlade.exe
Duskborne77
NocturneZeroAlpha
TheRealVlad (with a dragon emoji)
Kaelis stared at the screen for a full ten seconds.
"...What am I looking at."
Valtesa covered her mouth with one hand, half in horror, half in disbelief.
Solmir closed his eyes slowly. "They named themselves like final bosses in a budget light novel."
"That one's mine," Bellenov muttered darkly, pointing at NocturneZeroAlpha. "I tried to raise him with taste."
"Is that a Greek letter and a Windows file extension?" Kaelis asked, completely done.
"Mine added an emoji," said Valtesa, deadpan. "An emoji, Kaelis."
They all stared at the display in defeated silence.
Then Kaelis, with ancient gravity, whispered:
"We are doomed."
The screen kept auto-scrolling.
One more appeared.
BloodTsunami420
Kaelis slowly removed his monocle and set it on the table.
"Meeting adjourned."
Chapter 63 – The Launch
Seven days.
That's all it had taken.
In one week, Mythcore ReGenesis had gone from beta buzz to global phenomenon.
And now, the full release had arrived.
Gen7Tech Headquarters – Tokyo
The sun hadn't yet risen when the lines began to form.
Hundreds of people crowded around Gen7Tech's flagship centers. Some came in cosplay, others in business suits, all of them buzzing with anticipation. A countdown blared from giant LED screens above the building.
00:00:03
00:00:02
00:00:01
[MYTHCORE REGENESIS: LIVE]
Cheers erupted.
And inside the glowing glass towers, the shelves were stocked — not with disks, but with sleek boxes of polished black and gold:
Mythcore VR Helmets – Series One.
Each bundled with the full version of the game.
The product limit was one per person. ID required. Scans enforced.
It didn't matter.
Within minutes, the helmets were gone.
Online – Secondary Market Explosion
By 9:00 AM, resellers were already posting listings.
"Mint condition, never opened. Mythcore Helmet Bundle – ¥450,000."
"One left. 3x market price. Serious buyers only."
"Private courier delivery. Discreet."
On dark-market forums and encrypted auction platforms, bids soared. Despite official statements from Gen7Tech discouraging resales, the demand was unstoppable.
Even black-market dealers were stunned.
"One unit in Jakarta just sold for seven times the retail price," an internal report noted.
"A Tokyo buyer paid in crypto for three — said he didn't care if they were banned."
Scarcity bred obsession.
And obsession bred profit.
Gen7Tech – Internal Briefing Room
The executives sat around a pristine digital boardroom table, glasses raised.
Charts hovered in the air around them — sales metrics, live user counts, resale heat maps.
"Initial units sold out worldwide in thirty-eight minutes," said the Marketing Director.
"Helmet resale prices are averaging 4.6x above retail. Dark market activity is exploding. Even with the one-per-customer rule, they're flipping through ghost IDs."
"It's out of our hands now," muttered the COO, not unhappily.
CEO Yui Nakamura leaned back, gaze distant but sharp.
"Let it scale."
"Should we crack down on resellers?"
"No," she said flatly. "Scarcity breeds reverence. Let them compete for it."
"And the Originals?"
"Still active," she replied. "And now more idolized than ever."
The CFO chuckled. "We turned FOMO into a religion."
Nakamura lifted her glass.
"To market dominance."
They drank.
No one spoke of World Frontier.
No one remembered the cost.
Gen7Tech – Internal Briefing Room, Continued
The room hadn't emptied yet.
After the toast, the screens around the table shifted—now showing revenue charts, regional breakdowns, and resale traffic mapped by IP distribution.
The CFO adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.
"Current sales revenue from official channels has passed $124 million USD."
"On day one?" someone asked.
"Day one. Without global restock. And not including the aftermarket."
A pause fell across the table.
"What about projections?" Nakamura asked.
The CFO tapped twice.
A new graph blinked to life: projected growth based on helmet restocking cycles, expansion into South America, Early Access content packs, and in-game purchases.
"If this trajectory holds—"
He zoomed in.
"—we're looking at $1.4 billion USD in the first month. Conservative estimate."
Another silence.
No one laughed this time.
"This will eclipse every previous launch we've done," the marketing director whispered.
"The VR helmet market… we just swallowed it whole."
"And we haven't even released cosmetics," someone muttered.
"Or the seasonal passes."
Nakamura folded her arms, watching the screen with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"This is only the beginning."
She turned her gaze toward the dark glass of the boardroom windows, where the city lights reflected endlessly across the skyline.
"By the time they realize what we've built…"
"We'll already own everything."
Then the marketing director leaned forward, almost hesitantly.
"We haven't even sold any cosmetics yet."
The room turned.
The chief of design added:
"We have three full costume lines sitting in reserve. Limited sets, holiday drops, legacy unlocks. All skinned, polished, market-tested."
"And the seasonal festivals?"
"Coming with the second patch."
The CFO rubbed his temples.
"If this is what the game earns without cosmetics…"
"What happens when players start paying to look cool?"
"What happens," Nakamura said softly, "when they have to?"
A long pause.
The room filled with the kind of stillness only raw power could generate.
"We won't just own the VR market," someone finally said.
"We'll define it."
Nakamura smiled.
"Begin preparations for the first cosmetic drop."
Chapter 64 – The First Drop
It was subtle.
Just a notification at the top of the login screen.
[ANNOUNCEMENT: FIRST COSMETIC EVENT – "LEGACY OF FLAME" BEGINS NOW]
Unlock limited-time weapon skins, mounts, and avatar sets from a forgotten empire.
Available in Crimson, Obsidian, and Divine tiers.
Event ends in 7 days.
In-game – Player Reactions
The main city plaza erupted.
Players clustered around vendors, crystal terminals, and whispering NPCs. The air shimmered with new effects—glowing swords, ornate armor, mounts cloaked in embers. The Crimson Tier gear was the most coveted: regal, flame-wreathed, and $9.99 USD per bundle.
"DID YOU SEE THAT MOUNT?"
"I NEED that flaming phoenix."
"Bro, the Obsidian armor literally smokes when you walk."
"It's all cosmetic… right?"
"Yeah. But do you want to look poor?"
Gold-trimmed avatars began strutting through starter towns, and anyone still wearing the default cloak quietly logged off.
The marketplace was on fire—both literally and economically.
Gen7Tech – Marketing War Room
Charts pulsed live on every screen.
"We've hit $12 million in cosmetic sales in the first six hours."
"Crimson Tier conversion rate is 23% higher than projected."
"We just sold 1.2 million digital shoulder capes."
Yui Nakamura stood with arms folded, watching the data flow with the poise of someone who had long expected this.
"And player backlash?"
"Minimal. Most complaints drowned under praise. Social sentiment: 91% positive."
"Prepare the second drop. Let them breathe three days, then drop the 'Heavenly Ruins' set."
"Another legacy bundle?"
"No. This time… fantasy nobility. Gold. Silk. Crown-tier."
They nodded.
It wasn't just a game anymore.
It was fashion.
It was identity.
It was a marketplace of ego, and Gen7Tech held the keys to the mirror.
Chapter 64 – The First Drop
It was subtle.
Just a notification at the top of the login screen.
[ANNOUNCEMENT: FIRST COSMETIC EVENT – "LEGACY OF FLAME" BEGINS NOW]
Unlock limited-time weapon skins, mounts, and avatar sets from a forgotten empire.
Available in Crimson, Obsidian, and Divine tiers.
Event ends in 7 days.
In-game – Player Reactions
The main city plaza erupted.
Players clustered around vendors, crystal terminals, and whispering NPCs. The air shimmered with new effects—glowing swords, ornate armor, mounts cloaked in embers. The Crimson Tier gear was the most coveted: regal, flame-wreathed, and $9.99 USD per bundle.
"DID YOU SEE THAT MOUNT?"
"I NEED that flaming phoenix."
"Bro, the Obsidian armor literally smokes when you walk."
"It's all cosmetic… right?"
"Yeah. But do you want to look poor?"
Gold-trimmed avatars began strutting through starter towns, and anyone still wearing the default cloak quietly logged off.
The marketplace was on fire—both literally and economically.
Gen7Tech – Marketing War Room
Charts pulsed live on every screen.
"We've hit $12 million in cosmetic sales in the first six hours."
"Crimson Tier conversion rate is 23% higher than projected."
"We just sold 1.2 million digital shoulder capes."
Yui Nakamura stood with arms folded, watching the data flow with the poise of someone who had long expected this.
"And player backlash?"
"Minimal. Most complaints drowned under praise. Social sentiment: 91% positive."
"Prepare the second drop. Let them breathe three days, then drop the 'Heavenly Ruins' set."
"Another legacy bundle?"
"No. This time… fantasy nobility. Gold. Silk. Crown-tier."
It wasn't just a game anymore.
It was fashion.
It was identity.
It was a marketplace of ego.
And Gen7Tech held the keys to the mirror.
Later That Night – Broadcast Studio, Tokyo
The lighting was clean. The tone professional.
"Good evening," said anchorwoman Kiyomi Takeda, facing the camera. "In our top story tonight, Mythcore ReGenesis has officially become the most successful VR launch in history."
Behind her, footage played: massive crowds, interviews with players, glowing avatars wielding fire-wrapped swords.
"Sales of cosmetic bundles in the first 24 hours have already passed twelve million dollars, with projections aiming for over a hundred million within the week."
Another clip cut in: analysts debating around a digital roundtable.
"Some critics are raising concerns about digital vanity, loot-box psychology, and luxury pricing for items that offer no competitive advantage."
"But players seem unconcerned," Takeda continued. "For many, it's not about power — it's about presence."
Footage cut again — this time to a player in full Obsidian Tier armor spinning in front of a city fountain.
"If I'm going to save the world," the player said with a grin, "I want to look like a god while I do it."
Back inside the executive wing, the lights had dimmed. The war room was quiet now, but a select few remained — top-level minds reviewing a wall of holographic panels.
"We've set the Crimson Tier at $9.99," said the pricing strategist. "It hits the sweet spot: premium, but mass-approachable."
"We're walking a tightrope," said the monetization director. "Too low, and we undercut our design effort. Too high, and we become them."
The room stilled briefly.
No names were said, but everyone knew what them meant.
Failed giants.
Studios that burned brightly on launch, only to collapse under the weight of greed — flashy games that charged $80 for exclusive armor, or locked gameplay behind exploitative lootboxes.
"You all remember 'Legends of Ascendancy,'" said the COO grimly. "They made a million in the first week… and lost half their player base by week two."
"And 'Chrono Crown'? Tried to charge $60 for a mount that clipped through terrain."
"They built castles out of resentment," Nakamura said softly. "And those castles fell."
She stood, walking slowly to the screen showing player heat maps.
"We'll build loyalty, not pressure. Every price must feel justified. Every item — desirable, but never mandatory."
"What about loot boxes?" someone asked cautiously.
"No," she answered instantly. "We don't gamble. We curate."
"We won't be worshipped if we act like thieves."
A quiet murmur of agreement swept the room.
The lessons were clear.
And Gen7Tech had no intention of repeating history.
"We're not just here to make money," Nakamura finished. "We're here to build something that lasts — long-term profit, not a short-term flameout."
Chapter 65 – The World They Chose
Two days after launch, the numbers had already spoken.
But Gen7Tech wasn't celebrating.
Not yet.
Gen7Tech – Private Investor Briefing
The room was dark, polished, and quiet — a private digital conference streamed to board members and major stakeholders across three continents. A graph pulsed softly in the background, marked by a steep, unrelenting curve.
CEO Yui Nakamura stood at the front, arms behind her back.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "we are not chasing flames."
A pause.
"We're not here to inflate numbers and vanish in a year."
The graphs shifted: active user retention, helmet resale trends, cosmetic bundle conversion. A list of failed titles scrolled beside them — ghost games bloated by greed, then lost to memory.
"They soared. Then burned. We watched. We took notes."
"Mythcore ReGenesis is not a game. It's a world."
She stepped aside as another chart displayed long-term player feedback patterns.
"We price deliberately. We release slowly. We reward emotional investment — not financial pressure."
Then she looked directly into the camera.
"And our goal is simple: make them fall in love with it. Then give them every reason to stay."
No one argued.
No one needed to.
This wasn't a short-term play.
It was the start of an empire.
In-Game Global Broadcast
Across every server, a new system message appeared.
[From the Mythcore Dev Team]
"Thank you for making our launch the most successful in VR history. We know you have choices — and we're honored you chose to live here."
"We believe in fair pricing. No loot boxes. No pay-to-win. Just beautiful gear, meaningful events, and a world worth returning to."
"Our cosmetics are here to express who you are. Not lock you out."
"We're not building a cash grab."
"We're building a world you'll want to grow with."
– With love and loyalty,
The Mythcore Team
For just a moment, players around the world stopped what they were doing.
And they believed it.
Public Reflection
The world had started to reflect.
It wasn't just a game anymore.
It was a social current.
Tokyo – University Café
A young woman sat editing a video essay titled:
"Why Mythcore Feels More Real Than My Life"
She paused playback and stared out the window.
"I don't even care about leveling," she whispered. "I just… like waking up and knowing who I want to be in that world."
New York – Night Talk Radio
"You're on air, Jonah."
"Yeah, thanks. I just want to say… I haven't seen my son smile like this in months."
"Because of the game?"
"Because in Mythcore, he can walk. He can run. He made friends. Said he wants to learn blacksmithing… in real life."
"And what do you think of that?"
"I think… if it makes him feel alive, it's real enough for me."
Berlin – Online Forum
Username: SinnerSaint77
Post Title: "My guild sat in a tavern for two hours just talking."
No farming. No raids. Just stories. I forgot how much I missed that. Thank you, Mythcore.
It had over 40,000 upvotes.
And climbing.
Singapore – Morning News Panel
"There's been criticism, of course. Questions about immersion addiction, economic manipulation—"
"But it's hard to deny what it's done socially. Strangers are organizing guilds faster than coworkers form teams."
"You think it's replacing real life?"
"No. I think it's reminding people how to live."
Across the World
Screens flickered.
Servers pulsed.
People logged in not just to escape, but to feel seen — to build something, shape something, belong somewhere.
And as Gen7Tech quietly tracked engagement rates and behavioral heatmaps, one analyst summarized it perfectly:
"They don't call it 'logging in' anymore," she said, eyes fixed on the dashboard.
"They say they're going home."
Public Reflection
Reddit – Gaming Megathread: "Why Mythcore Feels… Different"
"I've played every MMO since 2004. I've paid $20 for a mount that didn't animate, $30 for a single helmet, and $100 just to not look like a peasant."
"So when I saw the Legacy of Flame bundle was $9.99?"
"I bought it in ten seconds. Not because I had to. Because it was worth it."
Twitch Chat – Mythcore Streamer "SootHands"
"Look, I know the armor doesn't boost stats."
"But it looks clean. It fits the theme. It feels like someone cared."
"And it's ten bucks. Not seventy. Not behind RNG. Not a 'limited loot chest key bundle.' Just... ten bucks."
"This is what it's supposed to feel like."
YouTube Reaction Video – "Why I Was Ready to Hate This Game"
The thumbnail read: "Mythcore: How Gen7Tech Did What Blizzard Wouldn't"
"I came in expecting predatory monetization."
"But I found something respectful. Intentional. Human."
"And now? I want to support it."
The comment section was flooded.
"Same."
"Finally someone gets it."
"9.99 has never felt so justified."
Steam Review Highlights – All Time Most Helpful
"Was ready to be disappointed. Instead, I found peace."
"One of the few games where I bought a skin and didn't feel scammed."
"I didn't buy cosmetics because I felt forced. I bought them because I was proud of my character."
As these voices echoed across the internet, they did more than praise a pricing model.
They validated a philosophy.
And as Gen7Tech's servers swelled with new players, and social platforms exploded with praise and screenshots, one quiet truth began to take hold:
Trust could be monetized.
But only if it was earned first.