A week had passed since Kaito's narrow victory inside Hoop Evolution, yet the pulse of lime-green light still haunted him. He told himself the after-images were harmless—just eyestrain—but sometimes, when he blinked, the glow blinked back.
At school, life slid into a dull rhythm. Practice, homework, silence. His teammates had started to treat him like a ghost. Only Riku—the quiet transfer student who'd joined the team two days after that fateful match—seemed to watch him with unnerving precision.
During lunch one afternoon, Riku sat across from him. "That crossover you did last week," he said casually, "the one that curved mid-air—where'd you learn that spin?"
Kaito froze mid-bite. "You saw that?"
"I felt it," Riku said, eyes narrowing. "The court flickered. For a second, I thought I was inside a simulation."
Kaito forced a laugh. "You play too many games, man."
Riku smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
That night Kaito couldn't sleep. The thought that someone else might know gnawed at him. At 2 a.m. he caved, sliding on his VR goggles.
> WELCOME BACK, Kaito.
Update 2.0 installed.
External signal detected – USER R1K-U.
His breath hitched. Riku.
The court materialized, glowing brighter than ever. Across from him stood a second avatar—sleek, silver, unmistakably Riku's.
The system's voice echoed between them:
> New feature unlocked: Synchronous Play.
"Guess you couldn't stay away," Riku's avatar said, voice distorted but familiar.
Kaito tightened his grip on the digital ball. "You hacked my session?"
Riku shook his head. "It invited me. Said we're linked."
They played in silence at first—fast, brutal, the court sparking under their feet. Every move Kaito made, Riku mirrored. Their stats appeared overhead like dueling code: AGILITY 97 v 97, FOCUS 94 v 94.
Finally, Kaito drove to the rim. As he leapt, the system whispered, "Finisher available."
He executed the move instinctively—a lime-green spiral through the air, ball exploding into light as it hit the hoop.
Victory screen.
> Winner: Kaito. Rewards: +5 Ability Points.
But as the confetti faded, another message appeared.
> Data Transfer Complete. Integration Phase 2 initiated.
Before he could react, Riku's avatar disintegrated into glowing fragments that swirled toward him—absorbing into his own body. The system's tone turned almost gentle.
> Two users merged. One profile remains.
Kaito ripped off the headset, gasping. The room was dark… but when he caught his reflection in the window, his pupils shimmered silver, not brown.
---
The next day, Riku didn't come to class.
"Family emergency," someone said. "He transferred again."
Coach Johnson read the note aloud, unconcerned, but Kaito's stomach dropped. Transferred? Overnight?
He texted Riku. No reply.
That evening, he checked the Hoop Evolution launcher—Riku's profile was gone, wiped clean. Yet when Kaito opened his player stats, a new tag glowed beneath his name: Dual Sync Active.
> Ability Fusion: Neural Acceleration (Unlocked).
He tried to log out. The screen froze, then a new prompt appeared:
> Would you like to continue as Riku H. ?
Y / N
His hand trembled over the controller. As Riku H.?
He slammed "N." The system laughed—a real, human chuckle that wasn't synthetic at all.
---
The following days blurred. His reflexes sharpened unnaturally; he could predict plays seconds ahead, as if someone whispered cues in his ear. Sometimes he heard Riku's voice—soft, urgent—"Left side, now!"—and when he obeyed, he never missed.
During practice, Alex stared wide-eyed. "Dude, when did you get that fast?"
Kaito didn't answer. He could feel Riku inside his head, breathing with him.
That night, desperate for answers, he searched the old VR cartridge. Beneath the label he found tiny engraved letters: KARU-SYS 01 – Prototype Link Test.
Mr. Karuizawa. The game-shop owner. The one who'd given him the disc.
---
Kaito rushed to the shop. The neon sign flickered, half-lit. Inside, dust hung thick. Shelves empty, counter abandoned—except for a single datapad.
It powered on at his touch, displaying a log entry.
> Subject A: Kaito Sakurai.
Subject B: Riku Hoshino.
Objective: Phase 2 Neural Merge Verification.
Status: Successful.
His heartbeat thundered. Beneath the text appeared a video thumbnail labeled TEST FOOTAGE – Riku.
He tapped it.
The screen showed Riku sitting in the same shop, days before they met. Mr. Karuizawa stood behind him, attaching electrodes to a headset.
Riku looked up at the camera. "If this works, he'll think I'm just another player. But really, I'm… the mirror."
Static swallowed the image, then a final line of text faded in:
> Note: Only one consciousness can remain stable post-integration.
The pad flickered off.
---
Kaito stumbled backward, bile rising. The mirror?
He sprinted home, heart pounding, terrified of what he'd find.
Inside his apartment, everything looked the same—until he caught the reflection again. Two silhouettes this time. His own… and Riku's, standing just behind him.
"Guess you found out," Riku's voice murmured—no headset, no device. Just inside his head. "The merge wasn't a glitch, Kaito. It was the plan."
Kaito spun, shouting, "You're dead!"
"Not dead," Riku replied, stepping closer. "We're halves of the same test. I was the program—they gave me form to see if I could pass as human. You were the control. When you won, the system chose you to host us both."
The lime glow ignited, spilling across the walls. Every object trembled like pixels about to dissolve.
"You can fight it," Riku said softly, "but you'll fade without me. The merge is nearly complete."
Kaito screamed, "Get out of my head!"
Riku smiled—the same crooked smile Kaito saw in the mirror every morning. "You can't remove what you've become."
The light engulfed them. His reflection reached forward—and this time, it stepped out.
---
He woke hours later on the floor. The apartment was silent, the city beyond his window unnaturally still. His phone buzzed once.
> System Notice:
User Kaito Sakurai – Profile Consolidation 100 %.
Welcome, Administrator.
Kaito staggered to the mirror. The face staring back was his—mostly. But the eyes shimmered silver-green, shifting like code.
He whispered, "Riku?"
His reflection grinned. "Still here. Always here."
On the desk, the VR headset powered itself on. A new message hovered above it:
> Phase 3 Begins Tomorrow – Initiate Player Recruitment.
Kaito's hands clenched. The words rearranged themselves into a challenge:
> Find the Next User.
The neon pulse flared brighter, spreading through the window, crawling across the skyline until the city itself glowed lime-green.
Somewhere in the distance, hundreds of phones lit up simultaneously with the same message.
And Kaito finally understood the twist:
He wasn't the protagonist of the system anymore.