I die choking on a tapioca pearl.
Not noble.
Not dramatic.
Not even interesting.
Just me, half-asleep on the bus, drinking milk tea like a responsible adult, and one rebellious pearl decides to take a detour into my windpipe.
My chest burns. People yell. Someone tries the Heimlich with all the precision of a flailing toddler. My hearing fills with static.
And the final coherent thought I have on Earth is:
This is absolutely going on my tombstone.
The world tilts.
Everything fades.
Darkness folds around me like a cheap curtain.
…
A click echoes, sharp and artificial, like someone just booted up a PC inside my skull.
A thin line of blue text flickers into existence.
⸻
[H.A.U.N.T. OS BOOTING…]
⸻
The darkness grows teeth.
More text scrolls upward.
⸻
[System Type: Hybrid Autonomous Universal Necromantic Terminal]
[Host Soul: DETECTED]
[Status: DECEASED — INITIALIZING POST-MORTEM ORIENTATION…]
⸻
Okay.
Sure.
Why not.
Death comes with firmware updates. Makes perfect sense.
The text stutters, glitches, stretches into a straight line—
⸻
[Verifying Soul-Vessel Integrity…]
[Verifying Biological Status…]
[…]
[...]
[ERROR.]
⸻
The whole display spasms like a blue migraine.
⸻
[ALERT: HOST IS NOT DECEASED.]
[ALERT: HOST IS NOT A GHOST, REVENANT, SPIRIT, OR REGISTERED ECHO.]
[ALERT: HOST IS… ALIVE.]
⸻
The darkness ripples.
Alive?
I remember choking.
I remember air refusing to cooperate.
I remember the cold.
"…are you serious?" I croak.
Sound.
My voice.
Apparently back online.
Light crashes into my eyes.
I wince, squinting as something cold presses against my forehead.
"Oh?" a soft, velvety voice says. "You're awake. That's… unexpected."
My vision adjusts enough to see a woman leaning over me. Pale skin. Crimson eyes. Black hair in a perfect bun. A nurse's cap.
And fangs.
Her smile would be comforting if it didn't promise anemia.
"Welcome back to the realm of the questionably alive," she says brightly. "I was just about to write your death certificate. Again."
I try speaking. My throat protests.
"Water," I rasp.
She lifts a cup to my lips, fingers cold enough to raise goosebumps. The water slides down my throat like salvation.
I drain the entire thing.
She seems delighted. "Good appetite. Warm skin. Heartbeat." Her finger brushes my wrist. "Oh yes. You are very, very in the wrong place, little human."
Little human.
Not great phrasing.
I sit up too fast.
The room sways like an indecisive carnival ride.
Gothic arches. Floating candles. Blue fire lanterns. A curtain beside me hides a… snoring skeleton. No lungs. Still snoring. Fantastic.
I glance at her name badge.
Nurse Sanguina, R.N.
Blood Type: All of Them
My soul leaves my body for a second time.
"Where am I?" I whisper.
She flashes a smile full of legally actionable teeth. "The Medical Wing of The Venerable Haunting Academy, of course."
Somewhere near my left eye, blue text reappears.
⸻
[H.A.U.N.T. OS STATUS: ONLINE (REGRETTABLY)]
[Host: Luka Vale]
[Biological Status: ALIVE (INCONVENIENT)]
[Spiritual Classification: INVALID]
[Recommended Action: UNINSTALL HOST.]
[Correction: UNINSTALL SELF. Apologies.]
⸻
I stare.
It stares back, digitally.
"Okay," I mutter. "This is the weirdest afterlife orientation ever."
"Hallucinations?" Nurse Sanguina asks, perked. "Fascinating. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Choking on milk tea," I say. "On the bus. A tapioca pearl. Then nothing."
Her eyes widen, pupils going razor-thin. "A food-based death. Adorable."
"Pretty sure I'm not dead."
She pinches my cheek hard.
"Ow!"
"See? Pain." She pats my face. "Congratulations on your continued mortality."
Blue text nods aggressively.
⸻
[CONFIRMATION: HOST IS EXPERIENCING PAIN.]
[NECROMANTIC PROTOCOLS: DISENGAGED.]
[FALLBACK MODE: IMPROVISED.]
⸻
Nurse Sanguina folds her arms. "This Academy is a convergence point of the Mortal, Spirit, and Echo Layers. A school for ghosts, spirits, reapers, witches—the unalive."
She tilts her head. "You… do not qualify."
"I noticed."
Before she can continue, the infirmary doors SLAM open.
I flinch like a guilty raccoon.
A tall girl strides in—pale hair, violet eyes cold enough to lower the room's temperature, dark uniform lined with silver. A reaper.
The system screams into my vision.
⸻
[Reaper Detected.]
[Designation: Mira Thanatiel — Third Year]
[Threat Level to Host: PLEASE RUN.]
⸻
Mira's gaze pins me like a butterfly specimen. "Luka Vale?"
Nurse Sanguina beams. "He's awake! And alive. Mostly."
Mira steps closer, inspecting me the way one might inspect a cursed artifact. Something cold brushes my bones—her soul-perception, probably.
"He has no death-mark," she murmurs. "No tether. No spectral tag. Why is he here?"
"Choked on a drink," Nurse Sanguina says. "Adorably tragic."
"I'm not adorable," I whisper.
Ignored.
"This Academy," Mira says, voice like sleet, "does not accept living humans."
"Yeah," I sigh. "Everyone keeps telling me that."
The system blinks.
⸻
[Main Quest Unlocked: EXPLAIN YOUR EXISTENCE]
Reward: Continued existence
Penalty: Unknown. Possibly dismemberment.
⸻
Great.
Mira stares at me one more time, decides execution can wait, and turns.
"Get him up. The Headmaster will see him."
Nurse Sanguina hauls me upright with one hand.
"The most dangerous creature on campus," she says happily. "Try not to offend him."
"That's impossible," I say.
"Yes," she agrees.
We step into a corridor lit by floating lanterns. Students whisper past—horned fire mage, echo-flickering girl, wolf-spirit with warm amber eyes and twitching ears.
All supernatural.
All powerful.
And me.
Human. Breathing. Squishy.
The system pings.
⸻
[Interim Quest: DO NOT DIE ON THE WAY TO THE HEADMASTER]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
Penalty: Death (standard)
⸻
"Comforting," I mutter.
Mira glances back, expression unreadable. "Luka Vale. Do not leave my sight."
"Is that for my safety or yours?"
"Yes."
We walk until we stop at towering double doors carved with shifting runes.
I feel the pressure behind them—like standing before a thunderstorm that learned how to think.
The system pops up one more time.
⸻
[Tutorial Tip: FIRST IMPRESSIONS MATTER]
[Advice: Try not to scream.]
⸻
Mira's voice drops to something almost gentle. "Do not run."
"I'm not sure I remember how."
The doors creak open.
A swirling pulse of ancient energy rolls out, brushing my skin like a warning.
I exhale slowly.
This is it.
The moment where my existence becomes someone else's problem.
The doors shut behind me with a heavy, echoing thoom, like the building itself is locking me in.
Mira doesn't respond to my nervous joke—
"Is it possible you kill me first before going in there?"
—but the way her eyes narrow tells me she absolutely considered it.
A chill slides down my spine.
I whisper under my breath, barely moving my lips:
"Hey, system. Usually we gain powers. Can I do something about this?"
The system lights up with all the enthusiasm of a dying bug lamp.
⸻
[Searching For Emergency Powers…]
[…]
[Skill Not Found.]
[Host Is Encouraged To Adopt A Kneeling Position.]
⸻
"…So no power? Nothing?"
⸻
[Correct. Please consider humility.]
⸻
Great.
So I step forward into the darkness, stomach twisting itself into origami. The chamber ahead feels endless, swallowing sound and light in a single breath.
Can I run?
No.
Running away from a reaper is just cardio-assisted suicide.
Can I use the single Haunt Point I might have gained?
Probably not. The system would complain about processing fees.
So I take a deep breath and commit to the only tactic left:
"Okay, plan number one… dogeza before whatever being is in there. Right! Brilliant."
The system sputters.
⸻
[This Is Actually… Not The Worst Idea.]
⸻
I shuffle forward, heart jumping hurdles in my ribs, until the shadows part—
—and reveal an office big enough to host a small war.
Black stone pillars curled like rib bones.
Blue flame lanterns suspended in still air.
Shelves lined with artifacts whispering quietly to themselves.
And at the center, behind a desk made of petrified bone and ink-stained marble…
Sits a small, frail old man.
…but the air bends around him.
Reality humbles itself.
Headmaster Venerable Haunt.
My instincts scream.
My knees buckle.
My forehead nearly cracks the polished floor as I drop into a full, perfect dogeza.
I hear myself blurt out:
"Oh… great and… noble… holy—wait, no—undying one! What can I do for you?"
Smooth.
Absolutely smooth.
Behind me, Nurse Sanguina makes a noise that is absolutely a stifled laugh.
Mira's aura freezes solid—offended, startled, unsure.
The old man finally opens his eyes.
They hold oceans.
Actual oceans.
Galaxies drowned in them.
He speaks softly.
"Child."
The air trembles.
"You are… alive."
The system implodes.
⸻
[WARNING: CATASTROPHE-LEVEL ENTITY IN RANGE.]
[WARNING: PLEASE STOP BOWING. YOU APPEAR VERY PUNCHABLE.]
⸻
I whisper through clenched teeth,
"System. Not helping."
⸻
[You're welcome.]
⸻
Venerable Haunt tilts his head, watching me with scholarly curiosity—as if I'm a frog dissecting itself for his convenience.
"Raise your head, Luka Vale."
I lift my face off the floor slowly, like I'm disarming a landmine.
His gaze glides over me, studying every aspect of my existence.
"You crossed the tri-realm threshold," he murmurs. "You are not dead. You bear a necromantic support system meant only for the non-living. Such an occurrence has no precedent."
I swallow loud enough to echo.
"I, uh… choked," I say. "On milk tea."
Nurse Sanguina beams proudly.
Mira closes her eyes as if absorbing psychic damage.
Venerable Haunt continues, ignoring them both.
"Tell me, Luka Vale… what should we do with you?"
The air grows heavier.
The shadows lean closer.
Mira takes a single step forward, protective or predatory—hard to tell.
Sanguina tilts her head, amused, hungry for drama.
The system panics harder than I do.
⸻
[CRITICAL CHOICE EVENT.]
[Host Must Respond. Carefully.]
[Advice: Humor Is Dangerous, Honesty Is Risky, Running Is Impossible.]
⸻
The Headmaster's question hangs in the air like a guillotine suspended by sewing thread.
Right.
What.
Oh no.
Beads of sweat begin forming along my hairline—the kind that rolls down way too fast for comfort, like even my pores have accepted imminent death. My breath gets stuck halfway in my throat, comes out as a pathetic hiccup.
Hiccup. Nice. Perfect timing.
My brain, in its infinite wisdom, offers the worst possible ideas.
Force a pee out?
Great!
That would only desecrate the ancient tri-realm office of a cosmic-level being.
Think. Think. THINK.
There's nothing. My mind is a blank slate of fear-induced static.
Right. Fine.
Why not?
Let's walk straight into the jaws of fate with the confidence of a man trying to convince the IRS he didn't mean it.
My voice crawls out of my throat like a mortally wounded snail.
"M-maybe… I can… enroll?"
The last word shrivels in volume, flimsy and desperate.
This is an academy.
Obviously there's enrollment.
Sure—everyone here is dead, undead, half-dead, spirit-something, or Echo-adjacent…
But hey. I can try.
Maybe? Please?
The room stills.
Mira stiffens.
Nurse Sanguina's eyes gleam like she just witnessed a historic disaster in motion.
The blue flames in the lanterns lean forward, as if curious how stupid I'm about to sound next.
Venerable Haunt… blinks.
One slow, cosmic blink.
The system begins vibrating like a phone shoved into a washing machine.
⸻
[ALERT: HOST HAS CHOSEN THE "INSANE BUT HOPEFUL" OPTION.]
[Calculating Survival Probability…]
[Correction: Attempting To Calculate.]
[…Long Pause…]
[Error: Division By Zero.]
⸻
The Headmaster's fingers fold together gently atop his desk.
"Enroll," he repeats, tasting the word the way a surgeon might taste poison before labeling it dangerous.
I feel my soul shrink.
And yet…
Something in his eyes shifts.
Interest.
Not warmth—not even acceptance.
But a scholar's curiosity. A cosmic entity encountering a puzzle worth opening.
"A living student…" he murmurs, "in an academy for the dead."
He leans slightly forward, and the shadows follow like trained wolves.
"This would violate countless laws. Cause realm imbalances. Offend certain sovereigns. Upset the Reaper Division. Confuse the Echo registrars. Possibly destabilize the Spirit Wing."
A very, very long silence.
Then—
"…and yet."
He lifts a hand.
The air tightens.
Mira straightens, ready to intervene—or attack.
Nurse Sanguina practically vibrates with anticipation.
And the Headmaster finally says:
"Continue, Luka Vale. Why should I allow you to enroll?"
The question doesn't simply fill the office.
It digs into me, pushes on the edges of my soul, demands something real.
The system flashes violently.
⸻
[CRITICAL RESPONSE WINDOW: FINAL WARNING]
[Whatever You Say Now Will Shape Your Fate In This Academy.]
[Choose Your Words Carefully.]
⸻
My brain picks the worst possible time to revolt.
WHY IS THAT A HARDER QUESTION?
He's the ancient cosmic being here!
He's older—several hundred, no, several thousand years older than me!
He should know the answer!
You're older, answer it, you old h—
I slam the emergency brakes in my head so hard my mental tires screech.
Right.
I cannot just cuss out the Venerable anything unless I want to die so hard my ghost gets fined.
My mouth opens.
Dangerously.
"To learn to die?"
The words escape before I can strangle them back down my stupid mortal throat.
Oh no.
OH no.
OH NO.
Mira's face goes flat. Nurse Sanguina makes a choking sound somewhere between a snort and a delighted gasp.
The blue lantern flames? They actually flicker like they're laughing.
I flail, verbally and physically.
"Wait—no! I take that back! I CLEARLY WANT TO LIVE!"
The system is wheezing.
⸻
[WARNING: HOST'S SURVIVAL INSTINCTS ARE COMPROMISED.]
[Statement Detected: "To learn to die."]
[Submitting For Mental Health Evaluation.]
⸻
Venerable Haunt doesn't blink this time.
He simply watches me.
Still.
Silent.
Evaluating.
It's like being stared at by a concept—by the idea of inevitability wearing the shape of an elderly man.
Then…
A sound.
A soft, ancient exhale that might be amusement. Or pity. Or the air giving up under the weight of his disappointment.
"A curious answer," he says slowly. "The living rarely contemplate death willingly. Rarer still is one who speaks of it without fear."
I do fear it!
I fear it SO MUCH!
My legs are shaking in Morse code SOS!
He continues:
"But what you desire is not death."
His gaze sharpens—sudden, cutting, absolute.
"What you fear… is meaninglessness."
My breath stops.
He speaks like he cracked open my chest and flipped through every insecurity like a dusty book.
"You cling to life, Luka Vale, yet drift toward the border of realms. You are alive, yet you were ready to surrender yourself to the unknown."
He leans back slightly, hands folding behind him.
"Tell me… why?"
My heart pounds so loudly it echoes.
Mira turns very slightly, as if she wants to hear the answer.
Nurse Sanguina tilts her head, eyes glittering.
The shadows in the room lean closer.
The system pulses beside me, panicking.
⸻
[CRITICAL CHOICE: ROUND 2]
[Headmaster Probing Your Core Fear/Desire.]
[Response Will Define His Judgment.]
Options You Might Lean Toward:
• Explain your fear of dying pointlessly
• Admit you don't understand why you're here
• Claim you want a chance to matter
• Try deflecting with humor (high risk)
• Confess you're overwhelmed
• Or something reckless again, god help you
⸻
The Headmaster's eyes glow faintly.
Ancient.
Patient.
Terrifying.
"Speak, Luka Vale."
I meant to make a joke.
I really did.
But somewhere between panic, terror, and my neurons playing 52-card pickup, the thought boomerangs back into my skull:
Didn't I think about this before?
That dying is just another part of life…
But what matters is whether your life actually meant anything?
My throat tightens.
My face heats up like I'm microwaving myself from the inside.
"I—…"
The words crawl out of me before I can grab them.
"I don't want to die because of a tapioca pearl."
The moment the sentence lands, I feel my soul leave my body a second time.
My ears burn.
My face flushes so violently I might spontaneously combust.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Nurse Sanguina choke back what is definitely laughter.
Mira stiffens like she's witnessing a cultural crime.
The system collapses into a digital heap.
⸻
[HOST CONFESSION: EMBARRASSING BUT AUTHENTIC]
[Emotional Honesty Bonus: +0.0001% Sync]
[System Comment: At least it wasn't a banana peel.]
⸻
Venerable Haunt… actually reacts.
His pupils—small, ancient pinpricks in a sea of shifting galaxies—focus a fraction more sharply, like I've said something worth examining.
"A tapioca pearl."
He repeats it as though it's a cosmic revelation.
Or a catastrophic disappointment.
"A mundane, meaningless death."
His fingers fold together on the desk.
"You wish for… what? A worthy one?"
"No!" I snap so fast I almost bite my tongue. "I mean—maybe? No? I mean—"
My brain hits a thermal meltdown.
"I don't want to die at all! Not here, not there, not anywhere! Especially not because of… a tapioca pearl..."
The Headmaster's expression doesn't change, but the air shifts—subtly, like approval or amusement or something ancient turning its head in my direction.
"A trivial death unsettles you," he says softly. "Because you desire meaning."
He leans back, studying me as though my insides are printed on transparent paper.
"And meaning," he murmurs, "is seldom given. It is made."
My heart stutters.
The Headmaster's eyes narrow slightly—not hostile, not kind, but measuring.
"You seek purpose," he concludes. "Consciously or not."
His voice fills the chamber, quiet but absolute.
"And purpose… can be taught."
The system freezes.
⸻
[WARNING.]
[Headmaster Venerable Haunt Has Shifted Behavioral Trajectory.]
[New Outcome Projection: UNKNOWN.]
⸻
Mira glances sharply at him—there's tension in her stance, something wary and startled and impossible to decipher.
Nurse Sanguina looks positively delighted.
The Headmaster lifts a single hand.
A simple gesture.
But the air ripples like reality itself obeys the motion.
"You propose enrollment," he says.
The universe stops breathing.
"Then answer me this, Luka Vale."
His voice grows deeper.
Older.
Carved out of centuries.
"Why should a living human be allowed to remain in a school meant only for the dead?"
The air weighs down on my lungs.
The shadows thicken around me.
The system trembles.
⸻
[CRITICAL DECISION: FINAL QUESTION OF CHAPTER]
[Your answer will determine whether you are:
A) Accepted
B) Contained
C) Disposed of
D) Something far stranger]
⸻
I have no idea…
I mean…
WHO DOES?
This old h—
The thought almost escapes before I swallow it back down so hard I'm surprised I don't choke again. The Venerable really wants me to lose all my hair before I even hit my twenties, doesn't he?
My lip is between my teeth before I realize it.
My eyes skitter across the room, searching—begging—for an answer, a hint, a divine cheat code, anything.
But the system?
The system is sitting in the corner of my vision like a broken smart fridge.
Completely, utterly useless.
⸻
[Processing…]
[…]
[No Viable Suggestions Found.]
[Consider screaming.]
⸻
"B-because… I have… rights?"
I hear myself say it. I hear myself die a second internal death.
"Wh—Who? I—I identify a-as… the dead!"
Yep.
This is my last card.
This is my funeral.
This is how I go.
The silence that follows is so thick you could carve your name into it.
Nurse Sanguina's hand flies up to cover her mouth—her shoulders shaking as she tries and fails not to laugh.
Mira stares at me, expression frozen, like she's witnessing a baby deer throw itself into a volcano.
Venerable Haunt says nothing.
Nothing at all.
He just looks at me.
Which is worse than being yelled at or smited or vaporized.
It's the look of a timeless, omniscient figure attempting—genuinely attempting—to process the absolute idiocy I just unleashed into the world.
Finally—
"...You identify as the dead."
His voice is so flat it might as well be the surface of a coffin.
I nod.
Because at this point, what else can I do?
Deny it?
Pretend I didn't just deliver the dumbest line in cosmological history?
"I see," he murmurs.
There is something—something—like a vibration in the air.
Then—
A sound escapes him.
A quiet, dry, ancient snort.
He is laughing.
The Headmaster Venerable Haunt—catastrophe spirit, realm-shaker, walking apocalypse—is laughing at me.
"Oh dear," Nurse Sanguina whispers, eyes sparkling. "He likes you."
Mira stiffens in horror.
"That is… not good."
Haunt's laughter fades into a calm, terrifying stillness.
"I have not heard such an answer in centuries," he says softly. "Foolish. Irrational. Pointless."
His gaze sharpens, focusing entirely on me.
"Honest."
My breath catches.
"I will allow you to remain," he continues, "temporarily."
My heart leaps—then immediately plummets.
"In exchange," he says, "you will prove your existence has value in this academy."
A pulse of power ripples through the floor.
"In one week's time," Haunt says, "you will present a reason—any reason—that the living may coexist with the dead here."
The shadows twist.
"Fail," he says gently, "and you will leave."
A pause.
"By force."
The system slams into full alert.
⸻
[MAIN QUEST UNLOCKED]
Title: Prove the Living Can Stay
Duration: 7 Days
Objective: Survive + Demonstrate Your Value
Reward: Enrollment (Conditional)
Penalty: Removal From Campus (Permanent, Possibly Fatal)
⸻
My stomach flips.
A week.
I have one week to convince an entire supernatural institution that I deserve to be here.
Venerable Haunt folds his hands.
"Now rise, Luka Vale."
I stand on shaky legs.
"You have been granted a trial," he says. "Use it well."
Then—
"Dismissed."
The doors behind me swing open.
Mira steps forward, tense.
Nurse Sanguina looks delighted.
The system buzzes like a hornet trapped in a jar.
My knees threaten to melt again.
This is it—the chapter ending.
The corridor beckons. Where should I go? Do I ask? Yes, let's ask.
Should I try Mira?
…
Yeah, no.
Not unless I suddenly develop a death wish or a scythe fetish.
She is the human equivalent of a warning label. Her expression right now says: Talk to me and I'll report you to the nearest cosmic entity.
So no, befriending her is not happening.
Not yet.
Not sober.
Not when she looks like she's deciding which bone to snap first.
So I pivot—smoothly, definitely not panicking—and turn toward the vampire nurse.
"Uhm… Nurse… where do I go?"
Nurse Sanguina lights up like I just handed her a bouquet of type O-positive.
"Oh, sweetling, you have SO many options," she chirps, clasping her hands together. "The Academy is a vast, beautiful, treacherous labyrinth of education and mild screaming."
Mira sighs behind me. Loudly.
Sanguina ignores her completely.
She steps close—too close—and straightens my collar like I'm a lost toddler she's dressing for preschool.
"Well," she says, tapping her chin, "technically, by protocol, a new student—living or dead—should begin at the Orientation Hall."
Mira cuts in, voice flat.
"He's not a student. He is an unprocessed anomaly."
Sanguina waves her off. "Semantics."
"No," Mira retorts. "Laws."
"Semantics with consequences," Sanguina amends cheerfully.
I stare between them.
"Orientation Hall… is that… safe?"
The system flashes instantly.
⸻
[SAFETY ANALYSIS: ORIENTATION HALL]
• Architectural Stability: 40%
• Student Survival Rate: 62%
• Human Survival Rate: Unknown. Possibly hilarious.
Conclusion: Probably Not Safe. But Better Than Here.
⸻
I swallow.
Sanguina pats my shoulder again.
"You won't be alone. A guide will be assigned to you."
Mira stiffens like she's expecting to be volunteered.
Sanguina beams.
"And by guide… I mean whoever gets to you first."
That… does not sound reassuring.
Mira steps forward, tone clipped.
"I will escort him."
My head snaps toward her.
She looks… annoyed.
Annoyed—but also determined.
Sanguina blinks.
"Oh? Mira? Volunteering? How responsible."
"This is not volunteering," Mira says through her teeth. "It is threat assessment."
I hear the system hum.
⸻
[New Sub-Quest: Survive Mira's Protection.]
Reward: Continued breathing.
⸻
Mira turns to me with that blank, reaper stare.
"Follow me," she orders.
Sanguina leans down to whisper in my ear.
"Try not to get dismembered. Reapers get… twitchy."
Wonderful.
Mira steps toward the hallway.
The doors are open.
The light pours through.
Try to survive a protection?
How NEW.
I never thought someone trying to protect me could also be the primary cause of my death—
literally.
But here I am.
I follow Mira out of the Headmaster's office, doing my absolute best to maintain a safe, non-threatening, reaper-resistant distance behind her. Like… seven steps. Maybe eight. Enough space that she can't accidentally reap me with a sneeze.
The hallway stretches ahead: floating lanterns, shifting shadows, students who look like walking red flags with limbs. Mira moves through them like a blade through water—cold, silent, creating a pocket of "don't mess with me" aura around her.
So naturally… I try small talk.
"So… a reaper…" I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. "I never in my lifetime expected to see one."
My voice cracks.
"Cool, cool."
The system flashes:
⸻
[Social Interaction Attempt Detected.]
Probability of Success: 3%
Probability of Death: 14%
Probability of Embarrassment: 99%
⸻
Mira does not slow.
She does not turn.
She does not respond.
She does, however, tilt her head a millimeter—like she's acknowledging I made sound, but not enough to emotionally invest in the fact.
After several seconds of silence so thick I nearly suffocate, she finally speaks.
"…Cool?" she repeats, flat as a tombstone.
Oh no.
She's analyzing the word.
"Y–yeah," I say weakly, "you know… reaper. Scythe. Cloak. Mystical… death… person? Very metal. Very cool."
I immediately regret every syllable.
Mira stops walking.
Just stops.
I walk into her back.
thud
Cold shoots down my spine like someone spilled liquid nitrogen into my soul.
She turns her head slightly, violet eyes narrowed—calculating whether my existence violates basic cosmic etiquette.
"You believe reaping souls is… 'cool'?"
I panic.
"No! I mean yes! I mean—uh—not the way you're thinking. I respect your… profession? Hobby? Calling? Cosmic… obligation?"
The system pings.
⸻
[Host Is Spiraling.]
⸻
Mira finally turns her full body toward me.
She stands a head taller, aura heavy, expression unreadable.
"To reap is not 'cool.'" Her voice is calm, but cold enough to crystallize guilt in my bloodstream. "It is a function. A duty. A burden. Not a spectacle."
I swallow hard.
"Right," I whisper. "No spectacle."
Her eyes linger on me—longer than expected. Studying. Dissecting.
"You speak strangely," she says quietly, "for someone who nearly died."
I want to joke—'trauma makes me funny'—but my survival instinct stacks hands with caution and slaps my mouth shut.
Mira turns away and resumes walking.
"Do not fall behind."
I exhale shakily.
She hasn't murdered me.
This counts as progress.
As I follow her deeper into the Academy, the hall begins to warp—shadows stretching longer, lantern-light bending unnaturally.
A faint chill curls around my ankles.
Mira pauses again.
"Stay close," she says, tone low. "The Academy is… sensing you."
…
That is the worst sentence I've heard today.
The system agrees.
⸻
[Environmental Hostility Rising.]
Recommendation: Stand nearer to the reaper.
[…Yes, really.]
⸻
I step closer—warily.
Mira glances at me from the corner of her eye, lips barely moving.
"Not that close."
I jump back half a step.
And the hallway shifts.
Just slightly. As if acknowledging the adjustment.
This entire place wants to eat me.
Great.
We turn a corner—stairs spiraling into the Mortal Wing, students glancing my way with curiosity, confusion, and mild hunger.
And just as Mira takes another step down—
Something moves in the shadows below.
A shape.
A ripple.
A… presence.
The system spasms.
⸻
[ALERT: UNKNOWN ENTITY APPROACHING.]
Classification: Echo… something.
Threat Level: Probably.
⸻
Mira's hand twitches toward a spectral black chain at her hip.
She shifts into a stance that can only mean one thing:
Trouble.
Instinct takes over.
A VERY stupid instinct.
Instead of stepping back…
Instead of bracing myself…
Instead of listening to any logical survival instinct…
I reach out and tug on the end of Mira's uniform coat.
Then I grip it.
Hard.
Like a toddler clinging to their mother in a haunted supermarket aisle.
Her posture freezes instantly.
Every. Single. Muscle.
Her head does not turn—because I suspect if she turns too fast, my soul might evacuate my body without permission—but her voice drops a full octave.
"…Luka Vale."
Oh no.
Oh no I made her say my full name.
The system has opinions.
⸻
[Warning: Host Is Grasping A Reaper.]
[Legal Note: Reapers Do Not Have 'Coats'—That Is A Veil-Fragment.]
[Recommendation: Release Before You Become A Case Study.]
⸻
I absolutely do NOT release.
Because something is moving in the dark stairwell below.
Not just moving—gliding.
Wrong angles. Wrong pace. A distortion in the air.
And Mira's aura tightens as if she's preparing to bisect the problem in one clean line.
"Yep," I whisper, breath shaking. "Maybe this is where my heroine journey starts. Saved by a strong reaper woman. Maybe."
A beat.
Then I correct myself violently:
"Heck! No! You might kill ME first before… whatever THAT is!"
Mira's jaw flexes.
"…Remove your hand," she says through very controlled, very thin composure.
I whisper, "But—Mira—if I let go—my bones will liquefy."
"Your bones will liquefy regardless," she replies.
"Okay," I squeak.
But my fingers don't move.
Because the thing in the darkness below finally speaks.
A whisper that slithers, like it remembers having a voice once but forgot how to shape it.
"Li…ving…"
My skin tries to crawl off my skeleton.
Mira steps forward once—chain materializing at her hand, a spectral scythe blooming from its end in a single sharp sound.
Her voice is cold metal.
"Identify yourself."
The distortion hisses.
"Li…vi…ng… hu…man…"
A shadow stretches across the stairs, reaching toward me.
Mira reacts instantly—shifting her stance, aura flaring.
Blue light crackles down the length of her chain.
"Stay behind me," she orders.
I cling harder.
Her shoulders rise half an inch as if she's reconsidering murdering me now to simplify the situation.
"You are testing my discipline," she mutters.
The shadow crawls one step higher.
The system unleashes pure panic.
⸻
[EMERGENCY QUEST ACTIVATED.]
Quest: DO NOT DIE TO WHATEVER THAT IS
Reward: +1 Day Lifespan
Penalty: Severe regret
⸻
Mira lifts her weapon.
The echo-entity lifts its head, revealing a warped, mask-like face with cracks where eyes should be.
A low moan rattles the hall.
The temperature drops.
Mira whispers, barely audible:
"An Echo Remnant… inside the Mortal Wing?"
This is bad.
This is VERY bad.
She braces to attack.
The shadow braces to leap.
And I—
—am still holding her coat like a terrified emotional support leech.
The entity lunges.