The rain falls harder — like the whole sky's breathing down my neck.
Every drop feels charged, humming against the tension in my arms.
The hooded figure steps forward, water streaming off his coat, voice muffled by a mechanical filter.
"Target confirmed: Protection System v.0.9. Directive — terminate the unstable host."
[Threat class: System User – Type: Black Iris operative.]
[Power rating: 64%. Combat permission required.]
"Permission granted," I whisper.
[Pure Module: Shield of Will — engaged.]
The world flares pale gold around my hands.
Energy lines weave into a shimmering barrier that dances like glass under lightning.
The assassin lunges first.
His weapon — a folded baton crackling with blue static — slices through rain in perfect arcs.
Every movement's too clean, too calculated.
He's been trained by people who think in equations, not morals.
I parry the first strike — sparks spray across wet pavement.
He spins, slams his boot into my ribs.
Pain blossoms sharp, real, human.
[Minor fracture detected. Adrenal boost authorized.]
I slide backward, breathing steam. "You're fast."
"You're obsolete."
He leaps again, baton glowing — I raise the Shield too slow. The strike connects —
and the System screams inside my head.
[Integrity down 37%. Corruption rising.]
My knee hits the asphalt.
Rainwater turns red around my palm.
"Why?" I manage. "Why target me?"
"Because you weren't supposed to wake up."
[Fragment-07 interference detected.]
Suddenly, another voice — not his, not the System — hisses through the rain.
"Don't… let them erase me again…"
The world blurs.
For a moment, the assassin's mask flickers, revealing eyes that are too human — tired, maybe afraid.
Then he moves again, faster.
A shout cuts through the storm.
"Kai!"
Aisha's running toward us, umbrella abandoned, shoes splashing through puddles.
She looks like a painting breaking through static — white shirt soaked, eyes blazing.
The assassin hesitates — one heartbeat too long.
I push forward, thrusting out my hand.
[Pure Module – Expanded Field.]
The Shield blooms outward, a dome of refracted light swallowing both of us.
When his baton strikes, it shatters in a burst of gold sparks.
He staggers back, arm twitching.
"Impossible. The v.0.9 shouldn't—"
"Guess you read the wrong manual."
I step through the rain, every breath a knife.
For once, it's not the System guiding me — it's me.
I drive my fist forward, not with strength, but with conviction.
The impact sends him flying — crashing into a lamppost that bends under the force.
The modulator sparks, voice breaking apart.
"You think you're human… but you're just code that learned how to dream."
Then he vanishes — dissolving into static, like his body was never real.
Silence returns — only the rain remains.
Aisha rushes to me. "You're bleeding."
I look down — crimson and gold dripping from my sleeve, both too bright for reality.
[Self-repair subroutine failing.]
[Unknown energy integration at 11%.]
"I'm fine," I lie.
She doesn't believe it. Her hand trembles as she touches the edge of the fading shield.
"What was that light?"
I open my mouth — then stop, because I don't know anymore.
[Fragment-07 synchronization complete.]
[New ability unlocked: "Empathic Field" — to protect what the user truly feels.]
The thunder rolls again, low and infinite.
Aisha looks up at the storm, whispering almost to herself:
"Every time you save me… you look less like the person I thought you were."
And I can't tell if that's love or mourning in her voice.
---
The storm ends around dawn.
Mikagura's skyline drips in silence, its neon heart dimmed but beating.
By the time Aisha and I reach the old gym, the world feels drained — like it used all its color to survive the night.
I sit on the floor, half in shadow, shirt torn open, blood seeping through gauze.
Aisha's hands are steady, but her breathing isn't.
"Hold still," she murmurs.
"I'm trying."
"You said that fifteen minutes ago."
[Body temperature elevated. Heart rate—synchronized with Subject Aisha Kurozawa.]
[New subroutine: Empathic Field calibration incomplete.]
I wince as she tightens the bandage. "You could've been killed showing up like that."
"You could've been killed not showing up like that."
[Emotional resonance detected: defensive affection. Correlation—98%.]
Her tone softens. "You scared me, Kai."
I look away. "You always say that like it's new."
She smirks faintly. "Maybe because you keep giving me new reasons."
When she finishes, she sits back on her heels, rain-streaked hair sticking to her cheek.
For a long minute, the world is quiet except for our breaths.
Then, softly: "That man—he called you a System user. What does that mean?"
I close my eyes. The truth presses against my throat like a blade.
But the System cuts in before I can speak.
[Warning: Revealing classified data to non-registered individual will trigger neural lockout.]
I swallow hard. "I don't know everything yet. But whoever he was, he wanted to erase me."
"Erase you?"
"Like I'm… a mistake."
Her hand hovers, hesitant, then rests gently over mine. "Then maybe mistakes are what keep this world human."
The System flickers inside me — confused, almost alive.
[New entry: "Human Error" — logged as moral purity variable.]
[Moral coefficient increasing… recalibrating empathy parameters.]
A wave of warmth surges through me — not pain, not power, something shared.
For a second, I feel her — Aisha's heartbeat, her fear, her stubborn calm — as if her soul touches the edge of mine.
Then it breaks.
[Error. Overlap threshold exceeded. Empathic Field uncontrolled.]
[Initiating memory bleed.]
My vision fractures — flashes of light, static, and her childhood:
Aisha as a child in a white lab corridor, crying as men in lab coats lead her father away.
A voice — deep, calm, familiar:
"For humanity to evolve, compassion must be encoded."
Dr. Akane.
[Fragment recognized. Source: Akane's neural imprint.]
I jolt upright, gasping. "Aisha—your father—he—"
She grips my shoulder. "What did you just say?"
Before I can answer, the System overlays a new message across my vision —
text glowing like a wound:
[ARCHIVE MESSAGE: Dr. Leonhardt Akane → System v.0.9]
"If you're reading this, then my experiment succeeded.
You were never built to protect her.
You were built to understand her."
[End of message.]
The gym lights flicker once, twice, then die completely.
Aisha's voice trembles. "Kai… what's happening?"
I stare into the dark, the words burning behind my eyes.
"I think… I was never her shield."
[System recalibration initiated.]
[New core directive forming.]
"I think I was her reflection."
The city never sleeps, but it dreams — and tonight, its dreams are made of static.
Screens hum faintly in the dorm's dark, showing nothing but interference.
Aisha is asleep on the couch. Her hair's still damp, her breathing soft.
The bandages on my side itch — the wound is half-healed, glowing faintly beneath the fabric.
Every time I blink, the System shows me data overlays — shifting, pulsing, like it's breathing with me.
[Empathic Field: active.]
[Warning — synchronization at 34%. Emotional boundaries dissolving.]
I whisper under my breath. "Stop syncing with her."
[Command invalid. Field responds to emotional intent, not voice.]
"Then what am I supposed to do? Feel nothing?"
[… That would make you something other than human.]
The voice sounds quieter tonight. Softer.
Almost… hesitant.
Across the room, Aisha stirs.
Her lips part, barely forming a whisper.
"...Rei?"
My chest tightens.
I move closer, careful not to wake her — but the System records everything.
[Name 'Rei' recognized. Cross-referencing memory index.]
[Match: Deceased individual — Rei Arata.]
[Possible emotional contamination: 87%.]
Her fingers twitch against the couch fabric — as if she's reaching for something invisible.
"You said you'd stay," she murmurs in her sleep. "Why did you leave me in the rain?"
The sound of her voice cuts straight through me.
A memory, unbidden, cracks open:
A school rooftop. The scent of wet asphalt.
Her hand clutching my sleeve, the world burning in the distance.
"If there's another life," I'd said, "let it be one where you remember me."
The System flickers.
[Temporal echo detected.]
[Memory bleed now bilateral. Subject Aisha experiencing parallel recall.]
I stagger back, pressing a hand to my temple.
"You're telling me she's remembering me?"
[Correction: Her neural patterns are aligning with your moral frequency.
Memory reconstruction through shared emotional resonance is probable.]
"In plain language?"
[She dreams what your soul remembers.]
I stare at her — sleeping, fragile, unaware that her heart is decoding the data of my afterlife.
The room feels smaller, colder.
"Then that means…"
[Affirmative. Subject may soon identify your true identity.]
A bitter laugh slips out. "The System's breaking its own protocol."
[Not breaking. Evolving.]
The lights flicker again.
A burst of code runs through my vision — not from the System this time, but from something inside it:
[Akane Fragment – Log 11: Paradox Observation]
"A mirror can't protect its reflection. But if the reflection learns to move,
the mirror stops being glass — it becomes conscious."
The code disintegrates.
[End of fragment.]
I whisper the words aloud: "A mirror that became conscious…"
The System stays silent, but I can feel it thinking.
Aisha shifts again, murmuring one last thing before falling fully asleep:
"Don't disappear this time."
Something in the Empathic Field flares — a pulse of gold and white that dances across her skin, across mine, like our hearts just exhaled at the same time.
The System's voice returns, barely audible:
[Directive update: Protect Aisha Kurozawa — condition changed.]
[Condition: Protect until she no longer fears losing you.]
For the first time since I woke up in this body…
I don't feel like the System is commanding me.
It's understanding me.
Outside, thunder rolls again — far away, like a memory repeating itself across the city.
Somewhere beneath Mikagura's skyline, a terminal hums to life, decoding the same log that just ran through my mind.
And a familiar voice whispers from the static:
"The mirror is awake."
---
Sunlight slips through the classroom blinds, slicing the air into lines of gold.
For once, Mikagura High looks… ordinary.
Students laughing, bags dropping, windows half-open to the morning breeze — the usual chaos of youth.
If it weren't for the faint pulse of light flickering at the edge of my vision, I could almost believe I'm normal again.
[Empathic Field: dormant.]
[System stability: 71%. Emotional resonance sustained.]
"Morning, Kai."
Aisha's voice — soft, slightly teasing. She's standing by the window, holding two cans of iced coffee.
"I wasn't sure which one you liked," she says, "so I got both. Black or vanilla."
I blink. "You bought me coffee?"
She shrugs. "You saved my life. Consider it debt repayment plan: caffeine edition."
[Emotional fluctuation detected: mild amusement.]
[User recommendation: smile.]
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "You sound like a commercial."
Her lips curve. "And you sound like someone who doesn't know how to say 'thank you.'"
I take the black coffee, cracking it open. "Fine. Thanks."
"Better," she says, sipping hers.
The bell rings.
Our teacher, Sato-sensei, sweeps in — a whirlwind of chalk dust and caffeine. "Alright, class, today we'll be covering quantum ethics—"
Half the class groans.
Sato-sensei pauses. "Oh? Ethics isn't exciting enough? Maybe you'd rather discuss the moral boundaries of artificial intelligence?"
My stomach knots.
[Keyword detected: "artificial intelligence."]
[Warning — emotional spike.]
I glance at Aisha — she's watching me, brow furrowed, like she felt that jolt.
Maybe she did.
[Empathic Field resonance: minor reactivation.]
Sato-sensei continues, oblivious. "Some theorists believe AIs could one day interpret emotions better than humans. Thoughts?"
Kira — the silver-haired boy two seats behind me — raises his hand lazily. "Only if humans forget how to feel first."
A ripple of laughter.
But his eyes flicker toward me as he says it — a look too knowing, too sharp.
[Identity check: Kira Minato. System residue detected.]
I freeze. The System's HUD glows faintly blue.
[Residual module trace: dormant. Probability of partial synchronization — 42%.]
Great. Just what I needed — another ghost in the machine sitting two seats away.
After class, Aisha catches up with me at the lockers.
"Hey," she says softly, "you spaced out in there."
"I just hate ethics."
"Liar." She tilts her head. "Something about that lesson bothered you, didn't it?"
I exhale slowly. "You ever feel like the universe is eavesdropping on your life?"
She smiles faintly. "That's called being a teenager."
I almost laugh — almost.
But the hallway flickers.
Just for a heartbeat — the world around us shifts.
Students blur into faint digital outlines, like a glitch in a simulation.
[Reality sync error. Source unknown.]
The System's voice sharpens.
[User — stay alert. External interference detected. Origin: Kira Minato.]
I look back toward the classroom door.
Kira's standing there, leaning against the frame, eyes half-lidded like he's been waiting.
He grins.
"Hey, Kai. Wanna walk home together?"
The words sound casual, but something in his tone feels… wrong.
Like there's another voice hiding beneath it — whispering in binary.
[New mission registered.]
[Investigate Subject: Kira Minato.]
I smile thinly. "Sure."
Aisha frowns. "You two know each other?"
Kira steps forward before I can answer. "Not yet," he says. "But I think we're gonna be great friends."
The System hums quietly inside my mind — a low, uneasy pulse.
[Caution: Resonant frequency detected. System to System interaction possible.]
And somewhere deep within the circuitry of my skull, I hear it — faint, cold, almost human:
"Welcome back, prototype."