Kaito dreamed of numbers.
They flowed like water—columns of variables, shifting probabilities, branching outcomes that collapsed the moment he tried to focus on them. Somewhere inside the dream, a counter ticked upward with soft, patient certainty.
He woke before dawn.
For a few seconds, he forgot where he was. The unfamiliar ceiling, the muted hum of a building he didn't recognize, the faint scent of industrial cleaner instead of solder and oil—all of it felt wrong.
Then memory snapped back into place.
Arcadia.
The word carried weight now. Texture. Smell.
Kaito sat up slowly, heart still racing, and rubbed his face. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from something closer to awe.
"That actually happened," he murmured.
"Yes," Aya replied. She manifested near the window, her avatar subdued and minimal. "Physiological indicators suggest lingering adrenaline response. This is expected after cross-environment exposure."
"Good," Kaito said. "I'd be worried if it didn't feel real."
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The safehouse was quiet. Mina's people had cleared out sometime during the night, leaving behind only a secure router, a sealed fridge, and a printed list of emergency contacts taped to the wall.
Kaito ignored the list.
He walked to the small table where the disk rested.
It was inert now, matte black and unremarkable, as if it hadn't just folded reality around him. For a moment, irritation flared in his chest.
"You could at least look impressive," he muttered.
The disk chimed softly.
DAY 005 — SIGN-IN AVAILABLE
Kaito froze.
Five days.
He hadn't missed one.
He reached out and touched the disk.
The interface unfolded instantly.
But instead of presenting a reward, it displayed something new.
STREAK STATUS: ACTIVE
CONSECUTIVE SIGN-INS: 5
BONUS CONDITION MET
Aya tilted her head. "This is a structural change," she said. "The system is no longer treating each sign-in as an isolated event."
"So what does that mean?" Kaito asked.
"It means," Aya replied, "that your behavior is now being modeled."
The words settled uncomfortably.
Modeled.
A second panel slid into view.
STREAK EFFECT UNLOCKED
• Increased reward rarity over time
• Improved contextual alignment
• Reduced randomness
Kaito exhaled slowly. "So if I keep showing up, it gives me better things."
"Yes," Aya said. "However, this also implies negative adjustment if consistency is broken."
"Penalties," Kaito said.
"Recalibration," Aya corrected.
"That's worse."
Aya did not argue.
Kaito leaned against the table, arms crossed, staring at the interface.
"This isn't luck anymore," he said quietly. "It's training."
"Yes," Aya replied. "That conclusion is statistically sound."
He felt a strange tightening in his chest.
Training implied expectation.
Expectation implied judgment.
"Does the system want me to become something specific?" he asked.
Aya paused.
"For optimal outcomes," she said carefully, "it encourages convergence between bearer capability and system potential."
"That's not an answer," Kaito said.
"It is the most accurate one I can provide."
The interface pulsed once, as if acknowledging the exchange.
BONUS REWARD: DEFERRED
NOTE: STREAK CONTINUATION WILL UNLOCK ADDITIONAL OPTIONS
Deferred.
Kaito snorted softly. "So now it's dangling carrots."
"Yes," Aya agreed. "Behavioral reinforcement is an efficient strategy."
"Do you approve?"
Aya considered the question.
"I do not possess approval," she said. "However, I am designed to function within this framework. Continued participation increases both my processing scope and your survival probability."
Kaito laughed under his breath. "That's a very polite way of saying we're in this together."
"Affirmative."
He looked away, toward the shuttered window. Outside, the city was just beginning to wake. Somewhere out there, people were heading to work, worrying about bills, planning lunches—unaware that another world existed less than a conceptual step away.
And he had been there.
"Five days," Kaito said. "That's all it took."
"Correction," Aya replied. "It took your choices."
The words lingered.
Kaito straightened.
"Alright," he said. "If this thing wants consistency, it'll get it. But on my terms."
He tapped the confirmation prompt.
DAY 005 — SIGN-IN CONFIRMED
The disk responded with a deeper tone this time, resonant and final.
STREAK MAINTAINED
CURRENT STREAK: 5
No fireworks.
No sudden miracle.
Just acknowledgement.
And somehow, that was more unsettling than any reward.
Aya dimmed slightly. "You should eat," she said. "And rest. Tomorrow will require preparation."
"For what?" Kaito asked.
Aya's eyes flickered.
"For growth," she said. "Systems that reward consistency rarely remain passive."
Kaito nodded slowly.
As he turned away from the disk, a thought surfaced—quiet, intrusive, impossible to ignore.
What happened to the people who failed to keep their streaks?
The system did not answer.
Outside, the sun rose higher, indifferent and ordinary.
Inside the safehouse, a counter waited.
Patient.
Counting.