The silence was the loudest thing in the capital. For two hundred years, the Global Flow Net had hummed like a divine choir, a constant vibration of "Aesthetic Focus" that told every citizen they were part of a masterpiece. Now, that hum was dead. The golden auroras were gone, replaced by a cold, gray sky that didn't care about anyone's "Focus."
I, Felix II—formerly Grey, a streamer who just wanted a cozy isekai life—stood on the balcony of the palace. My shimmering royal robes were gone, burned in the fires of the Aethelgard Disaster.
[SYSTEM STATUS: FLOW-NET DISCONNECTED]
[CURRENT AESTHETIC: CRINGE / INDUSTRIAL]
[INTERNAL DF RESERVOIR: STAGNANT]
"Your Majesty," a voice whispered from the shadows.
It was Rhea. My Knight-Captain was no longer clad in gleaming silver plate. She wore rough, un-aesthetic leather and carried a non-magical steel blade. Behind her stood Evelyn—the woman who had tried to erase the world. She looked small now, her eyes wide with the terrifying realization of her own mortality.
"The riots are starting in the High-Districts," Rhea reported. "The nobles can't light their heaters. They can't even open their automated doors. They are literally trapped in their own 'Perfect' lives."
I looked down at my hands. They were pale, delicate—the hands of a "Femboy King" who was supposed to be a mere figurehead. But they were also stained with the black grease of the sub-level boilers.
"Let them scream," I said, my voice cutting through the chill. "The era of looking perfect is over. If they want heat, they're going to have to learn to sweat."
I reached into my tunic and pulled out a pair of brass-rimmed goggles—a relic from the Sump's workshops. I snapped them over my eyes, the leather strap contrasting against my soft, silver hair.
"Rhea, bring me the 'Gear-Heart' prototype from the Sump," I commanded.
"Sire? That's un-aesthetic... it's crude," she hesitated.
"It's functional," I countered. "The Flow is dead, but my Focus isn't. I'm going to show this city a new kind of power. We aren't going to pray for light anymore. We're going to Goon for it."
I sat on the edge of the cold stone throne, not like a monarch, but like a mechanic. I closed my eyes and reached deep into the void where the Flow used to be. I didn't look for beauty. I looked for the raw, vibrating friction of the world—the "Cringe" energy of a million failed dreams.
[NEW SKILL INITIATED: MANUAL GOONING Lvl. 1]
As I began the ritual, my body didn't glow with gold. It pulsed with a dull, rhythmic heat. My breath hitched, my muscles tensed, and for the first time in this world's history, the sound of a Steam Engine began to drown out the silence of the gods.
The "Gooner Femboy King" was back. And this time, he had a wrench.