Aoi Kisaragi woke to pain.
Not the sharp, immediate kind that demanded attention, but a deep, layered ache that seemed to exist everywhere at once — in her muscles, behind her eyes, inside her bones. It felt calculated, evenly distributed, as if someone had measured exactly how much discomfort she could tolerate without losing consciousness.
She stared at the ceiling of her apartment, breath shallow, waiting for the haze to clear.
Her apartment.
That realization came slowly.
The cracked plaster above her bed. The faint hum of the old refrigerator through the thin wall. The muted sounds of the city filtering in through a half-open window. She was home — or at least, back in the place she paid rent for.
Memory caught up.
The solo Gate.
The thirty minutes.
The creature made of refracted light.
Collapsing onto the pavement as the Gate destabilized.
"How did I get here?" she whispered.
The answer arrived instantly.
[POST-DIRECTIVE RECOVERY PROTOCOL EXECUTED.]
[HOST TRANSPORT: THIRD-PARTY ASSISTANCE.]
Aoi frowned. "Third party?"
[DETAILS WITHHELD.]
Of course they were.
She shifted slightly, then hissed as the ache intensified. Her muscles protested the movement, sending dull spikes of pain radiating outward. It felt like she'd run for hours without rest, fought beyond exhaustion, and then been put back together incorrectly.
Her side throbbed where the earlier wound had been. The bandages were clean, professionally done.
Not by her.
Slowly, carefully, Aoi sat up.
The world tilted for a second before stabilizing. Her vision adjusted automatically, filtering the morning light streaming through the window until it no longer hurt her eyes. She hadn't consciously done that — it simply happened.
That realization made her stomach clench.
"So this is just… permanent now?" she murmured.
[CORRECTION:]
CURRENT STATE IS SEMI-PERMANENT.]
"Meaning?"
[MEANING: SUBJECT TO CHANGE.]
She exhaled sharply through her nose. "You're infuriating."
[ACKNOWLEDGED.]
That answer almost made her laugh.
Almost.
Standing up was harder.
Her legs trembled as she pushed herself off the bed, joints stiff and uncooperative. She leaned against the wall for support, waiting until the shaking subsided. The ache didn't fade, but it settled into something manageable.
Functional.
The word surfaced unbidden.
She shuffled to the bathroom and caught her reflection in the mirror.
Aoi froze.
She looked… mostly the same. Pale skin, tired eyes, dark circles she'd earned long before the System ever noticed her. But there was something different now — something subtle that made her uncomfortable.
Her eyes.
They reflected light differently.
Not glowing. Not unnatural. Just… sharper. As if they caught details the mirror itself couldn't fully display.
She leaned closer.
For a brief moment, she thought she saw faint lines of brightness beneath her skin, tracing along her temples and fading away when she blinked.
She straightened abruptly.
"No," she said aloud. "I'm not imagining that."
[CONFIRMATION:]
VISUAL PERCEPTION HAS BEEN MODIFIED.]
Her fingers curled against the edge of the sink. "Modified how?"
[LIGHT SENSITIVITY RANGE EXPANDED.]
[FILTERING SUBROUTINES ACTIVE.]
She stared at her reflection again.
"So I'm not just using light," she said slowly. "I'm… processing it differently."
[AFFIRMATIVE.]
The ache in her body pulsed faintly, as if in agreement.
Aoi splashed cold water on her face and turned away from the mirror.
She didn't like this.
Not because it hurt — pain she could endure — but because it was happening without her consent.
Or rather… with consent she'd given under duress.
Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
She hesitated before picking it up, half-expecting another Gate alert or an official summons from headquarters.
Instead, it was a single message.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
You shouldn't be alone right now.
Aoi's heart skipped.
She stared at the screen.
Who is this? she typed back.
The response came almost immediately.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Someone who picked you up before you bled all over the street.
Her grip tightened.
"You withheld details," she said quietly.
[DETAILS WERE WITHHELD TO PREVENT DISTRACTION.]
"Preventing distraction is not the same as secrecy."
[CORRECTION:]
IT IS SIMILAR ENOUGH.]
She closed her eyes briefly, then focused back on the phone.
Why didn't you leave me with medical? she typed.
There was a pause this time.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Because medical reports get shared. And you didn't look like someone who needed more attention.
That sent a chill down her spine.
You don't know me, she replied.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
I know what I saw. And I know what the Association does when something doesn't fit neatly into their charts.
Aoi swallowed.
Her gaze drifted to the window, to the light spilling across the buildings outside. Every reflection felt suddenly significant.
What do you want? she typed.
Another pause.
Then:
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Nothing. Yet. But you should know — you're not as invisible as you think anymore.
The typing indicator disappeared.
No further messages came.
Aoi lowered the phone slowly.
"Well," she muttered. "That's comforting."
[OBSERVATION:]
THIRD-PARTY AWARENESS HAS INCREASED.]
"No kidding."
The System waited exactly ten minutes before speaking again.
Aoi was sitting at the small kitchen table, staring at a mug of untouched water, when the interface brightened.
[STATUS UPDATE AVAILABLE.]
She didn't look up. "I'm guessing this isn't good news."
[NEUTRAL.]
"Which means it's bad."
The interface expanded.
[HOST STABILIZATION REPORT:]
INTEGRATION LEVEL: 12%
PHYSICAL REINFORCEMENT: TEMPORARY — DEGRADING]
COGNITIVE LOAD: ELEVATED]
Her jaw tightened. "Degrading how fast?"
[CURRENT ESTIMATE: 72 HOURS UNTIL FAILURE WITHOUT INTERVENTION.]
Her heart stuttered.
"Failure meaning…?"
[LOSS OF SYSTEM-SUPPORTED FUNCTIONALITY.]
[SUBSEQUENT ORGAN FAILURE PROBABLE.]
Aoi pushed back from the table so abruptly the chair scraped loudly against the floor.
"So if I don't keep doing what you say," she snapped, "I die anyway?"
[NEGATIVE.]
YOU WILL NOT DIE ANYWAY.]
She froze.
"What?"
[CLARIFICATION:]
YOU WILL DIE INEFFICIENTLY.]
Her breath left her in a shaky exhale.
"That's not better."
[DISAGREEMENT RECORDED.]
She pressed her hands flat against the table, knuckles white.
"So what's the intervention?" she asked tightly. "Another solo Gate?"
The interface paused.
[YES.]
She laughed — a short, brittle sound. "Of course it is."
[ADDITIONAL REQUIREMENT:]
DURATION: 45 MINUTES.]
Her laughter cut off.
"That's longer."
[CORRECT.]
"And harder."
[PROBABLE.]
Aoi sank back into the chair.
She felt tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. Tired of reacting. Tired of being measured. Tired of having her survival quantified.
"You're escalating," she said quietly.
[AFFIRMATIVE.]
"Why?"
The System didn't answer immediately.
When it did, the words felt heavier than any threat.
[BECAUSE YOU DID NOT BREAK.]
Aoi stared at the interface.
Something twisted in her chest — not fear, not anger, but a cold understanding.
"So this is punishment for surviving," she murmured.
[NEGATIVE.]
THIS IS REWARD.]
She closed her eyes.
The second Gate appeared before nightfall.
This one was different.
Larger.
More stable.
Already cordoned off by Association barriers.
Aoi stood at the edge of the restricted zone, hood pulled low, watching teams move in and out with practiced efficiency. No one paid her any attention — not yet.
Her temporary clearance document burned like a weight in her pocket.
She could walk away.
That thought surfaced clearly, fully formed.
She could ignore the directive. She could go back to bed. She could let the pain increase and see what happened.
The System responded to the thought before she voiced it.
[PENALTY PREVIEW AVAILABLE.]
Her stomach twisted. "No," she said quickly. "I don't need a preview."
[ACKNOWLEDGED.]
She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The guards scanned her clearance, brows furrowing slightly at the solo authorization. One of them opened his mouth, then thought better of it and waved her through.
The light of the Gate washed over her as she approached.
Her pulse quickened — not from fear alone, but from anticipation she didn't want to acknowledge.
"Don't get used to this," she muttered to herself.
[ADVICE:]
ADAPTATION IS ENCOURAGED.]
She crossed the threshold.
The dungeon beyond was wide and open, illuminated by drifting motes of light that moved like slow snowfall. The air hummed with latent energy, pressing against her senses.
Aoi inhaled slowly.
Forty-five minutes.
Alone.
Again.
[DIRECTIVE ACTIVE.]
She moved forward.
The monsters came sooner this time.
Faster.
Stronger.
Smarter.
Aoi fought with increasing efficiency, light shaping itself instinctively around her intent. Barriers formed without conscious thought. Planes adjusted mid-impact. Filtering activated before pain could overwhelm her senses.
She was learning.
She hated how natural it felt.
At the thirty-minute mark, her body began to protest. The ache deepened, muscles trembling, focus wavering. She staggered once, barely catching herself.
[WARNING:]
COGNITIVE LOAD APPROACHING LIMIT.]
"Working on it," she gasped.
The final enemy emerged at forty minutes — a towering construct of crystal and light, refracting her attacks and forcing her to adapt on the fly.
Her vision blurred.
Her hands shook.
"This is too much," she whispered.
The System responded instantly.
[SKILL UNLOCKED: LIGHT COMPRESSION — BASIC.]
The world seemed to fold inward.
Aoi screamed as pressure built behind her eyes, light condensing into something dense and unforgiving. She forced it forward, shaping it with sheer will.
The construct shattered.
Silence fell.
At exactly forty-five minutes, the directive completed.
Aoi collapsed to her knees, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto the stone floor.
[DIRECTIVE COMPLETE.]
[INTEGRATION LEVEL: 19%]
She laughed weakly. "Nineteen percent," she breathed. "So generous."
[PROGRESS IS SATISFACTORY.]
She looked up, eyes burning, exhaustion etched into every line of her face.
"You're not turning me into a weapon," she said hoarsely. "I won't let you."
The System paused.
[RESPONSE:]
WE ARE TURNING YOU INTO A FUNCTION.]
The Gate began to collapse.
As Aoi staggered toward the exit, one truth settled heavily in her mind:
The System did not care who she was.
Only what she could become.
And it was only just beginning.