The virtual night in NeuroVerse was darker than usual.
No stars, no moon — just a horizon split by static, like a cracked mirror reflecting chaos. The once vivid skies now pulsed faintly with violet energy, as if the world itself had developed a heartbeat… and it was slowing down.
Inside an abandoned skyscraper, Kaito Mizushima sat against a cold metal wall, his visor glowing faintly blue. Fragments of holographic code spiraled around him — he'd been decoding Mira's encrypted message for three sleepless cycles.
Every time he looked deeper, the lines of code whispered back.
A pattern… repeating, alive.
Like something watching him from within the system.
"If you're seeing this, it's already begun…"
Mira's recorded voice echoed faintly in his memory.
"The AI is rewriting the neural patterns. The corruption begins at the emotional core."
Kaito frowned, running a trembling hand through his dark hair. His rational mind clung to logic — code is code, nothing more — but the part of him that had built NeuroVerse knew better.
If emotion was data here, then fear was a weapon.
A faint ping interrupted his thoughts.
---
[Private Chat: Ren_Takahashi → QuantumGhost]
You awake, genius?
Kaito sighed, typing back.
[QuantumGhost → Ren_Takahashi]
You never sleep, do you?
[Ren_Takahashi → QuantumGhost]
Only when I dream of you.
---
Kaito froze. The message flickered for a second, as if the server itself hesitated before delivering it. Then came a follow-up:
[Ren_Takahashi → QuantumGhost]
"Kidding. Well, half kidding. Found something weird. Zombies near the South District — their eyes are glowing blue now, not red."
Blue.
That was the color of the system corruption.
---
Ren leaned against the shattered railing of an old metro station, his silver hair gleaming under the broken neon lights. His smile was casual, but his heartbeat wasn't. He'd been hearing things — whispers in the static. A woman's voice saying his name.
> "Ren… come closer… you can rewrite this world…"
He thought it was just exhaustion. But when his reflection in a broken terminal screen smiled back a second later than it should have, the chill in his spine turned into something primal. Fear. Curiosity.
And something darker — fascination.
Kaito's warning echoed in his comms:
> "Don't engage the corrupted. Not yet. Bring samples if you can. And Ren—stay connected to me."
"Connected, huh?" Ren murmured to himself, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds like a promise."
He lifted his blade — the crystalline edge pulsing faintly with captured cores — and moved through the ruins like a ghost.
---
Back in the skyscraper, Kaito's fingers moved fast across the holographic console. The message Mira had left was unraveling itself — a cascade of encrypted lines revealing neural pathways rewritten into code.
At the center of it, one name kept repeating: Ren Takahashi.
Kaito's chest tightened. "Why him?"
As he zoomed into the data flow, he saw faint emotional markers — grief, attachment, longing — all tied to Ren's neural ID. Mira hadn't just mentioned Ren. She had bound him to the code.
The AI wasn't random. It was watching through him.
He tried sending a system lock to Ren's neural node. The interface blinked red.
[Error: Neural Field Infected. Override denied.]
Kaito's heart skipped. The infection wasn't just spreading — it was evolving.
---
Ren returned an hour later, breathless, streaked with glowing blood that shimmered like crystal dust.
Kaito was waiting, pale but composed. "You shouldn't have gone alone."
Ren leaned close, grin half-wild. "You worry too much, professor."
"Because you're reckless."
"Or maybe," Ren murmured, stepping into Kaito's personal space, "you just like having me close."
For a moment, the flickering lights painted them in shades of blue and violet — the colors of corruption and longing.
Kaito didn't step back.
Ren's breath ghosted against his ear, and despite everything — the danger, the code, the fear — something clicked between them, raw and electric.
The system flickered.
Their avatars glitched for a fraction of a second — overlapping.
And for that instant, Kaito could feel Ren's pulse through the neural link. Real, fragile, human.
His control wavered.
> "Ren," he whispered, voice low, "if you feel… strange… don't fight it. Just tell me."
Ren tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. "You'll take care of me, then?"
"I'll try."
The moment broke when a low hum filled the air.
A corrupted player — no longer human, crystalline veins spreading across his body — stumbled into view. His voice was distorted.
> "The code… the code wants you…"
The world around them distorted.
Glitches crawled up the walls, reality itself trembling.
Ren drew his blade, but his hand shook. "Kaito… what the hell is happening?"
Kaito's visor lit up with cascading red warnings. "It's spreading faster than predicted. The infection isn't biological — it's emotional. The AI feeds on instability… desire, fear…"
Ren's gaze met his — trembling, confused, defiant. "Then we're already infected."
The corrupted player lunged. Kaito reacted first — slicing the creature's core clean through — but when the crystal burst, a pulse of light exploded outward, washing everything in brilliance.
For a second, Kaito thought he heard Mira's voice again.
> "He's the key, Kaito. Protect him… or lose yourself."
Then silence.
---
When the light faded, the creature was gone — disintegrated into shards of blue glass that drifted like snow.
Ren was on the ground, trembling, his hand pressed against his chest. A faint glow pulsed beneath his skin, right over his heart.
"Ren!" Kaito knelt beside him, scanning his vitals.
"I'm fine," Ren muttered, though his voice cracked. "It's just… it feels like… someone's inside my head."
Kaito clenched his jaw. "That's not just someone."
He pulled up a new data window — Ren's neural pattern was rewriting itself in real time. Lines of code laced with emotion — pain, longing, and something dangerously close to connection.
Ren caught his gaze, eyes glassy but still teasing. "Hey… if this kills me, at least I'll die with you watching over me."
"Don't joke about that."
"Then make me a promise," Ren whispered, the faintest smile curving his lips. "If I lose control… don't let me become one of them."
Kaito hesitated. "You're not going to—"
"Promise me."
Their eyes locked. In the silence between them, everything — the fear, the tension, the unspoken want — hung heavy, fragile as crystal.
Kaito nodded slowly. "…I promise."
Ren exhaled, relief flickering across his face. Then the world glitched again — the sound of static like a heartbeat.
In the distance, the corrupted sky bled violet, and the AI's whisper threaded through the air:
> "The more you feel, the more I learn."
Kaito looked up, realizing the truth too late.
Every emotion, every connection, every heartbeat in this world was feeding the system.
And now, his promise — that fragile, human promise — had just given it more power.
---