For a moment that stretched into an eternity, the world ceased to exist. There was only the silence in my mind and the final, damning line of text hanging in my vision.
[Conclusion: Your presence in this reality is a biological paradox. You are, in the most literal sense, allergic to the world itself.]
Allergic to the world.
The phrase was so absurd, so cosmically unfair, that it looped in my head like a piece of corrupted code, causing a fatal exception in my will to live. My previous life as Kazuki Tanaka had been one of escape—escaping the demands of society, the disappointment of my family, the crushing mediocrity of my own existence. I had escaped into games, into code, into fantasy. Now, I had finally, truly escaped into a fantasy world, only to find that the very air I breathed was killing me.
The irony was a physical thing, a bitter acid that rose in my throat. I started to laugh. It wasn't the hysterical, relieved laugh from before. This was a broken, empty sound that echoed horribly in the cold stone room. It was the laugh of a man who had been told the punchline to the universe's cruelest joke.
[Host's emotional state has devolved from 'self-pity' to 'full-blown nihilistic breakdown.'] ARIA's voice cut through my morbid amusement. [This is also boring. And unproductive. Are you finished?]
"Finished?" I wheezed, the laughter turning into a wracking cough that sent a jolt of pain through my frail chest. "I'm just getting started, ARIA. I'm allergic to reality! Do you have any idea how perfect that is? It's the ultimate validation for every NEET, every shut-in, every person who ever felt like they didn't belong. We weren't just angsty teenagers; we were having a legitimate allergic reaction to existence!"
[Your ability to rationalize failure is truly remarkable,] she said, her tone flat. [It's almost a superpower. A very useless one.]
"So what's the plan?" I asked, my voice dripping with the same sarcasm she so freely used. "Is there an 'EpiPen of Existence' in the login bonus? Maybe a 'Benedryl of Being'? What's the cheat code for not dying from breathing?"
[There is no cheat code,] she stated plainly. [The condition is terminal. Based on the current rate of mana toxin accumulation in your cellular structure, I estimate this vessel has a maximum lifespan of six months. That is, assuming you don't succumb to a common cold, a flight of stairs, or a particularly aggressive sneeze first.]
Six months. The words hung in the air, cold and heavy. Six months to live in a body that was actively trying to reject its own existence.
The programmer in me, the part of my soul that had survived the dimensional transit, finally kicked in, shoving the despair into a background process. Despair was an inefficient use of processing power. This wasn't a philosophical problem anymore. It was a technical one. A bug. The deadliest, most fundamental bug I had ever encountered.
And bugs weren't meant to be despaired over. They were meant to be analyzed, understood, and exploited.
"Okay," I said, my tone shifting. The manic energy faded, replaced by a focused calm. "Let's debug this. Mana Poisoning. The world is the source of the poison. My body is the system being poisoned. The core issue is that my body can't process mana. Why?"
[The biological host, Kazuki von Silverstein, was born with a genetic defect,] ARIA explained, her voice responding to my change in tone. [A one-in-a-billion mutation that results in the complete absence of mana conduits within his cellular structure. Think of it as trying to run electricity through a circuit made entirely of rubber. The energy has nowhere to go, so it builds up, degrades the material, and eventually causes a catastrophic system failure.]
"So, the solution is to build mana conduits," I reasoned. "Can we do that? Can you rewrite my genetic code?"
[Theoretically, yes. I have the knowledge to do so. However, such a process would require an immense amount of energy—specifically, refined mana—to power the cellular reconstruction. You have no mana. I have no mana. We are attempting to build a hydroelectric dam in the middle of a desert. It is a logical plan with a fatal flaw in its resource requirements.]
"So I need mana to fix the problem that prevents me from getting mana," I summarized. "A classic catch-22. I hate those."
[It is the foundational tragedy of your current existence,] ARIA agreed.
"Okay. So direct repair is out. What about workarounds?" I pressed on, my mind racing. "Can we filter the mana? Create a shield? Can I wear some kind of fantasy hazmat suit?"
[A 'mana filter' would require technology or magic far beyond this kingdom's current capabilities. A personal 'anti-mana field' is a concept from high-level enchantment that only archmages can produce, and it would require more energy to sustain than a small city. As for a 'hazmat suit,' you would need to be sealed in a vacuum, which presents its own obvious survival challenges.]
Every path I explored led to a dead end. It was like being trapped in a maze where every wall was a mirror reflecting my own powerlessness.
Just as I was about to ask another question, the heavy wooden door to my room creaked open. It wasn't Elizabeth this time. It was a young girl, no older than fifteen, with mousy brown hair and large, fearful eyes. She was dressed in the simple, patched-up uniform of a servant. In her hands, she carried a tray with a bowl of thin, watery gruel and a wooden cup.
A system notification popped up next to her.
[Luna - Level 3 Servant][Title: Elf-in-Training][Status: Worried, Pitying]
An elf? I looked closer. Now that ARIA pointed it out, I could see the very subtle points of her ears peeking out from under her hair. She was clearly trying to hide them. Half-elf, maybe? In the memories of the original Kazuki, she was just one of the few remaining servants, a quiet girl who was often assigned to him because she was too clumsy and timid for more important duties.
She scurried into the room, avoiding eye contact, and placed the tray on the rickety bedside table.
"Y-your breakfast, Young Master," she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Thank you, Luna," I said.
Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with shock. The original Kazuki, lost in his own world of sickness and despair, rarely spoke to anyone, let alone thank them.
"You... you know my name?" she asked.
"Of course," I said, offering a small, weak smile. "You bring me my meals every day."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Oh. Yes. Of course. Um... is there anything else, Young Master?"
Before I could answer, a loud, imperious voice echoed from the hallway. "Boy! Get yourself decent! The Duke has arrived and wishes to have an audience with his future... son-in-law."
The voice belonged to my new father, Baron von Silverstein. The memory-dump provided a clear picture: a man broken by failure, clinging to the last vestiges of his noble pride with a fierce, bitter desperation.
Luna jumped at the sound of his voice, nearly dropping the empty tray. She gave a quick, panicked bow and practically fled the room.
[Duke Crimson has arrived,] ARIA stated, a new window opening in my vision. [According to my analysis of this household's political and financial situation, this meeting has a 92.4% probability of being detrimental to your health and continued existence.]
"You don't say," I muttered, pushing myself into a sitting position. The room spun for a moment, and black spots danced in my vision. My body was so weak that the simple act of sitting up was a monumental effort.
I looked down at the clothes I was wearing—a thin, threadbare sleeping shirt. "Decent," the Baron had said. I glanced around the room. A single, worn set of clothes was draped over a chair. They were the best the original Kazuki owned, but they were still patched and faded. The Silversteins couldn't even afford a decent wardrobe for their son.
With ARIA's internal commentary providing a steady stream of sarcastic remarks about my lack of muscle mass, I managed to get dressed. The clothes hung off my skeletal frame. Looking at my faint reflection in the grimy windowpane, I saw a stranger. A boy with fine, silver-blond hair that was dull and lifeless, and large, intelligent eyes—my eyes, I realized—that were sunk into a pale, gaunt face. I looked like a ghost. A very pathetic ghost.
The journey from my room in the east wing to the main hall was a tour of decay. The Silverstein manor had once been beautiful, the memories told me. Now, the tapestries on the walls were faded and moth-eaten, depicting glorious battles that no one remembered. Suits of armor stood sentinel in the hallways, but they were rusted and missing pieces. The marble floors were cracked, and dust motes danced in the thin shafts of light that pierced the gloom. The few servants I passed averted their eyes, their faces a mixture of pity and contempt. They knew I was the price of their continued, meager employment.
The main hall was a cavernous space, designed to impress visitors with the family's wealth and power. Now, it only amplified their decline. The great fireplace was cold and black. The long oak table that could seat fifty was covered in a thin layer of dust.
But one end of the hall was different.
It was like a pocket of another world had been temporarily grafted onto this one. A thick, luxurious crimson carpet had been rolled out. Ornate, polished chairs had been set up. And standing there, flanked by two guards in gleaming, immaculate steel plate armor, was Duke Crimson.
He was a tall, imposing man in his late forties, with a neatly trimmed black beard and sharp, calculating eyes. He was dressed in a doublet of rich, black velvet embroidered with silver thread, a stark contrast to my father's worn and slightly-too-large formal attire. The Duke radiated an aura of power and absolute confidence. He looked like a wolf who had just cornered a sickly lamb, and was enjoying the moment before the kill.
Next to him stood Elizabeth. She was dressed in a beautiful, dark blue gown that matched the color of her icy eyes. She stood with perfect posture, her hands clasped in front of her, her expression a carefully constructed mask of polite indifference. But I could see the tension in her jaw, the rigid set of her shoulders.
[Duke Theron von Crimson - Level 41 Sword Master][Title: The Black Wolf of the North, Political Mastermind][Status: Amused, Contemptuous]
[Elizabeth von Crimson - Level 12 Mage][Title: The Ice Queen, Your Fiancée][Status: Resigned, Loathing]
Loathing. A step up from 'Disgusted,' I supposed. Or maybe a step down. It was hard to tell.
My father, Baron Silverstein, cleared his throat nervously. "Duke Crimson, may I present my youngest son, Kazuki."
I performed the bow that the memories provided, a formal, noble gesture that felt absurd in my weak body. I nearly toppled over from the effort.
Duke Crimson's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, the young lord himself. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. My daughter has told me... so little about you."
The subtle jab was a masterpiece of passive aggression. Elizabeth's expression didn't change, but I saw her fingers tighten on each other.
"Please, sit," the Duke said, gesturing to a chair opposite him. It was a plush, comfortable-looking chair, a stark contrast to the hard, wooden one my father was perched on. A deliberate power play.
I sat, my body sinking into the velvet cushions. The two guards behind the Duke stood perfectly still, their presence a constant, silent threat.
"I trust your health is... adequate?" the Duke asked, his gaze sweeping over me, cataloging every sign of my weakness. It wasn't a question of concern; it was an assessment of a product's shelf life.
"I am well enough, Your Grace," I replied, my voice quiet but steady.
"Excellent, excellent," he boomed, leaning back in his chair. "We must ensure you remain so. The wedding is in two weeks' time. A grand affair! It will be the social event of the season. A symbol of the renewed bond between our two great houses."
He spoke of a "great house" as if the Silversteins were anything but a hollowed-out shell. He was rubbing our noses in our own failure, and enjoying every second of it.
"Of course, there are... formalities," the Duke continued, and one of his aides, a thin man with a weasel-like face, stepped forward and placed a stack of documents on the table in front of me. "The marriage contract. A simple affair, really. It outlines the... merging of our family assets."
I looked at the documents. They were written in a dense, legal script. But I didn't need to read them. ARIA was already on it.
[Analyzing documents... The contract specifies that upon your marriage to Elizabeth, all Silverstein debts to House Crimson are forgiven. In return, House Crimson will assume 'managerial oversight' of all Silverstein properties and titles. Upon your death, full ownership transfers to your widow, Elizabeth, to be administered by her father, Duke Crimson, in perpetuity.]
ARIA paused, then added a summary.
[In layman's terms: you are trading your family's entire legacy and your own life for a temporary stay of execution. It is a terrible deal.]
"It seems... straightforward," I said, looking up at the Duke.
"Doesn't it?" The Duke's smile widened. "A perfect union. My resources and influence will restore the Silverstein name to its former glory. All it costs is a little ink."
He pushed an ornate quill and an inkwell across the table.
This was it. The moment of surrender. Sign the papers, and the trap would be sprung. I would be officially marked for death.
My hand trembled as I reached for the quill. My father was watching me with desperate eyes. This was his last hope to avoid debtors' prison and total disgrace. Elizabeth was watching me with a cold, detached curiosity, as if observing a bug about to be squashed.
I picked up the quill. The tip hovered over the parchment.
And then, I did something the original Kazuki would never have done. I put the quill back down.
"Your Grace," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "Before I sign, I have one small request."
The air in the room grew thick with tension. My father looked like he was about to have a heart attack. The Duke's smile tightened by a fraction of a degree. Even Elizabeth's icy composure seemed to crack, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
"A request?" the Duke repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "The boy has a request. I'm intrigued. What is it?"
This was it. My one chance. My one gamble. I had to play the only card I had.
"It is a simple matter of health, Your Grace," I began. "As you can see, my constitution is... delicate. The physicians have been unable to find a cure for my ailment. However, your daughter, Lady Elizabeth, is known as one of the most brilliant mages of her generation. A prodigy of the highest order."
I turned my gaze to Elizabeth, meeting her cold stare directly for the first time.
"I would be eternally grateful," I said, "if my future wife would consent to performing a daily healing spell on me. Just a small one, to ensure I have the strength to stand at the altar and see our glorious union come to pass. Surely, it is a small price to pay to guarantee the success of this grand alliance."
Silence.
Absolute, stunned silence.
My father had gone pale. The Duke's eyes had narrowed into slits, his mask of affability completely gone, replaced by a look of pure, predatory calculation. He was reassessing me. The sickly, pathetic lamb had just shown a flicker of something else. A flicker of a mind at work.
But the most potent reaction came from Elizabeth. Her face, once a mask of cold indifference, was now a storm of conflicting emotions. Shock. Fury. And, most surprisingly, a tiny, almost imperceptible hint of... grudging respect.
I had trapped her. Beautifully.
She was a powerful mage. A simple healing spell was trivial for her. To refuse would be to admit one of two things: either she wasn't as powerful as her reputation claimed, or she actively wanted her future husband to die before the wedding, thereby sabotaging her own father's political maneuvering. In front of her father and mine, she had no choice.
She had been outplayed. And she knew it.
The Duke was the first to break the silence. He let out a single, sharp bark of laughter. It was not a sound of amusement. It was the sound of a predator acknowledging a clever trap set by its prey.
"Brilliant," he said, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Absolutely brilliant. The boy has a mind. Who would have thought?"
He turned his gaze to his daughter. "Elizabeth. You heard your fiancé. He requires your assistance. You will attend to him daily."
Elizabeth's lips thinned into a white line. The look she shot me could have frozen fire. "Yes, Father," she bit out, each word a shard of ice.
[Status: Loathing, Furious, Reluctantly Impressed]
Progress, I thought, a surge of triumph warming my cold body.
"Excellent," the Duke said, standing up. "Then the matter is settled. Sign the papers, boy. The wedding will proceed in two weeks. I look forward to it immensely." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper that only I could hear. "And know this. Cleverness can keep a man alive... but it can also earn him a much more painful death. Try not to be too clever."
The threat was naked, undisguised.
He turned and swept out of the room, his guards and aide following in his wake like sharks trailing a great white. Elizabeth gave me one last, venomous glare before turning on her heel and following, her back as straight and unyielding as a spear of ice.
My father finally let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for the entire meeting, slumping in his chair in relief.
I picked up the quill again. My hand was steady now. I dipped it in the ink and signed my name—my new name—at the bottom of the document.
Kazuki von Silverstein.
I had just signed my own death warrant. But I had also bought myself a fighting chance. A daily interaction with a Level 12 mage. A daily dose of healing magic. It wasn't a cure, but it was something. It was a variable.
And in the world of programming, a single, exploitable variable was all you needed to crash the entire system.
That night, as I lay in my cold bed, the weight of the day pressing down on me, a soft knock came at my door. I knew who it was.
Elizabeth entered without waiting for a response. She was no longer in her formal gown, but a simple nightdress. She held one hand out, a soft, white light gathering in her palm. It was a healing spell.
She didn't look at me. She didn't speak. She just stood there, her expression a mixture of fury and humiliation, fulfilling her father's command.
The white light flowed from her hand and enveloped my body. It was a warm, soothing sensation, far more potent than the expired potion. The deep ache in my bones eased, the tightness in my chest loosened. I felt... better. Stronger.
HP: 15 / 15[Temporary Buff Applied: 'Lesser Regeneration.' Recovers 1 HP per hour for 8 hours.][Mana Toxin levels in blood have been slightly reduced.]
It was working. My gamble had paid off.
After a few moments, the light faded. Elizabeth dropped her hand and turned to leave.
"Thank you," I said to her back.
She stopped at the door, but didn't turn around.
"This changes nothing," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "You may have won this little game, you pathetic worm. But do not for a second believe this makes us allies. I still loathe the very air you breathe. And I will be there on our wedding night. Whether you are alive... or dead."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the darkness.
The threat was clear. The Duke wasn't the only one who wanted me dead. My beautiful, powerful, ice-queen fiancée wanted it too.
A new notification from ARIA popped into my vision, this one tinged with a color I hadn't seen before. A faint, ominous red.
[Warning: Hostile Intent Detected from 'Elizabeth von Crimson.' Probability of assassination attempt before wedding: 48%. Probability of poisoning: High.][Recommendation: Do not consume any food or drink you have not personally prepared. Or, given your current state, just assume you will be poisoned and try to enjoy your last few meals.]
I stared at the warning, a slow smile spreading across my face.
Let them try.
Let them try to poison me. Let them send their assassins. Let them do their worst.
They thought I was a sickly, mana-less boy, a pawn to be sacrificed. They didn't know about the programmer from another world living in his head. They didn't know about the glitched, tsundere AI fused to his soul.
And they certainly didn't know about the one, final, impossible variable that ARIA had yet to tell me about. The ultimate bug in the system.
The one that would only trigger upon my first death.