Roppongi at night is not a city; it is a fever dream of neon and glass, a place where the air itself feels expensive and recycled. The "Glass House" sat atop one of the newer spires, a jagged architectural middle finger to the sky. It was a private club for those whose wealth was so vast it had become an abstraction.
I stood across the street, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of a borrowed tuxedo that smelled faintly of cedar and someone else's desperation. The invite had been a digital ghost—a QR code that appeared on my phone the moment I stepped into a taxi.
The "lag" was worse now. Every time I turned my head, the world followed a heartbeat later. It was like living in a badly dubbed movie. I watched a group of socialites step out of a limousine. Their movements were fluid, but their Ghost Echoes—the shimmering trails of their previous thoughts—were jagged and ugly.
*I hope she sees the necklace. It cost more than her life. My feet hurt. I want to scream. Smile. Just smile.*
The echoes were layered with a thick, syrupy glaze. In Shinjuku, the thoughts were raw and bleeding. Here, they were processed. Prepackaged. These people had been lying to themselves for so long that even their subconscious had a public relations department.
I walked toward the entrance. The bouncer, a mountain of a man with an Intent Pulse that felt like a low-frequency hum of violence, scanned my wrist. He didn't look at the barcode—he couldn't see it—but the scanner chimed with a frequency that vibrated directly in my marrow.
"Welcome, Mr. Kurogami," he said, his voice a flat, rehearsed monotone.
I didn't answer. I couldn't trust my mouth to move in sync with my intentions. I stepped into the elevator.
The climb was silent. My reflection in the polished chrome doors was a haunting reminder of my condition. My eyes looked like two burnt-out stars. I looked at my left wrist. The barcode was pulsing a violent, bruised purple. It felt warm, a localized fever beneath the skin.
The doors opened, and the "Feast of Lies" hit me like a physical blow.
The ballroom was a sprawling expanse of white marble and floor-to-ceiling glass. Beyond the windows, the lights of Tokyo stretched out like a glowing circuit board. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and the sharp, metallic tang of ambition.
There were at least two hundred people. The Cognitive Echoes were a tidal wave.
*The merger has to go through. He's cheating, I know it. I need another drink. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me.*
It was a symphony of vanity. I staggered slightly, my hand catching the edge of a champagne table. The "lag" made the floor feel as if it were tilting. I closed my eyes, trying to filter the noise, but the Void Shard had left my auditory nerves raw. I wasn't just hearing thoughts; I was feeling the friction of their contradictions.
"Identify the one who is telling the truth," I whispered to myself.
How? In this room, "truth" was a liability. Every smile was a tactical decision. Every compliment was a concealed blade.
I began to move through the crowd, a ghost in a sea of monsters. I looked at a CEO standing in the center of a circle of admirers. He was talking about "philanthropy" and "global responsibility." His Surface Echo was a cold, calculating White.
*The tax havens are secure. These idiots will believe anything if you use the word 'sustainability.' I wonder if the waitress is for hire.*
I moved on. A young starlet was crying in a corner, surrounded by photographers. She was speaking of "heartbreak" and "healing." Her Fractured Echo was a chaotic blur of orange anxiety.
*Is the lighting right? If I don't get the cover, my agent will kill me. I hate this dress. I hate these people. Why am I not famous enough?*
Lie. Lie. Lie.
The pressure in my skull began to build. The penalty for failure—permanent auditory overload. If I didn't find the truth-teller, the "filter" in my brain would be permanently removed. I would spend the rest of my life hearing every rotting thought of every person on the planet. I would be a god of misery, unable to ever sleep again.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I spun around, my reflection in my mind's eye catching up a half-second too late.
It was a man in his sixties, his hair perfectly silver, his suit worth more than my apartment building. He held a glass of dark red wine. His Intent Pulse was... strange. It wasn't a hum. It was a dead, flat line.
"You look like you're searching for a phantom, young man," he said. His voice was rich, cultured, and entirely empty.
I stared at him. I searched for his Echo.
There was nothing.
My heart skipped. Was he like Seo-Yun? A Silent Zone? I leaned in, my senses screaming. No, it wasn't a void. It was a mask so thick that the thoughts couldn't even reach the surface. He wasn't silent; he was encrypted.
"I'm looking for a friend," I lied.
The man smiled. "In this room, a friend is just an enemy who hasn't found their leverage yet."
He walked away, his Ghost Echo trailing behind him like a funeral shroud. *He's a player,* I realized. *Or a watcher.*
The clock was ticking. I could feel the violet glow of the barcode burning against my skin. The "lag" was increasing. I took a step, and the world seemed to ripple. People were moving in slow motion, their words stretched out into guttural groans.
*Liiiiiieeeeeessssss.*
I fought the urge to vomit. I needed a focal point. I needed a center.
I looked toward the far end of the room, near the balcony.
There she was.
Han Seo-Yun stood alone, a glass of water in her hand. She was wearing a dress of midnight blue that seemed to absorb the light of the chandeliers. She wasn't talking. She wasn't smiling. She was just watching the city.
The silence around her was even more profound here. Amidst the roaring static of two hundred liars, she was a hole in the world. A beautiful, terrifying absence.
I forced my legs to move. I pushed past a group of laughing politicians, their Echoes a sickening shade of yellow.
"Seo-Yun," I gasped as I reached her.
She didn't turn around. "You're late, Ren. The Void has already begun to eat your sense of time."
"The challenge," I said, leaning against the railing to keep from falling. "The truth-teller. Is it you? Are you the one?"
She finally turned, her dark eyes reflecting the neon sprawl of Tokyo. There was no Echo from her. No ripple of intent. Just that chilling, perfect calm.
"I am a Silent Zone, Ren. I don't tell the truth, and I don't tell lies. I simply don't exist in the way you need me to."
She stepped closer, her face inches from mine. The silence from her was like a cool compress on my burning brain. For a moment, the "lag" vanished. The world synchronized.
"Look at the girl by the piano," she whispered.
I looked. A young girl, no older than seven, was sitting on a bench near the grand piano. She was the daughter of one of the diplomats, I assumed. She was wearing a white lace dress and holding a tattered stuffed rabbit.
I focused on her. I waited for the Surface Echo. I waited for the greed or the vanity or the boredom.
Nothing came.
I frowned. Was she another Silent Zone? No.
Then I heard it.
It wasn't a thought. It wasn't a voice. It was a resonance. It was a pure, crystalline vibration that matched the physical world perfectly. There was no gap. No friction. No lag.
The girl looked at her rabbit. She whispered something to it.
"I'm scared," she said.
I listened to her Echo.
*I'm scared.*
The internal and the external were identical. There was no mask. There was no PR department. There was only the raw, terrifying honesty of a child who hadn't yet learned that the world required a version of her that didn't exist.
The barcode on my wrist flared with a blinding violet light.
[ OBJECTIVE IDENTIFIED: THE INNOCENT. ]
[ STATUS: TRUTH VERIFIED. ]
[ REWARD GRANTED: CRIMSON SHARD (2.0mg). ]
A sharp, stinging sensation erupted in my jacket pocket. I reached in and pulled out a small, red pill. It felt warm, vibrating with a frantic, aggressive energy.
The Crimson Shard.
"You found her," Seo-Yun said, her voice devoid of praise. It was a simple statement of fact.
"She's just a child," I said, my voice shaking. "Is that the only truth left? Ignorance?"
Seo-Yun looked back at the city. "Truth is a luxury of the unburdened, Ren. Once you know how the world works, you can no longer afford to be honest. Not even with yourself."
The "lag" returned with a vengeance. The room began to spin. The silence of the child was being drowned out by the sudden, violent surge of the ballroom's noise.
*The stocks. The sex. The power. The hunger. The hate.*
I clutched the Crimson Shard in my hand. I knew what it did. It amplified boldness. It stripped away empathy. It would give me the strength to navigate this filth without drowning, but it would turn my heart into a piece of flint.
"Why are you doing this, Seo-Yun?" I asked, my vision darkening. "Why did you bring me into VEIL?"
She didn't look at me. She started to walk away, her figure blending into the shadows of the glass pillars.
"Because the world is ending, Ren. Not with a bang, but with a scream that no one wants to hear. I need someone who can listen to the end without going mad."
"Wait!" I tried to follow her, but a group of men in suits blocked my path. Their Echoes were a solid wall of grey indifference.
I looked at the red pill in my palm. The noise in the room was reaching a breaking point. I could feel my own mind starting to splinter. The penalty—the permanent overload—was hovering just at the edge of my consciousness, a dark shadow ready to swallow me.
I looked at the little girl by the piano. She was looking at me now. Her eyes were wide, clear, and filled with a truth that I knew I would never possess again.
*You're hurting,* her Echo whispered.
It was the first time an Echo had ever felt kind. And it was the last thing I heard before I swallowed the Crimson Shard.
The world didn't go grey this time.
It went red.
The fear vanished. The hesitation vanished. The "lag" was still there, but I no longer cared. I felt a surge of cold, predatory power. The people in the room were no longer threats; they were obstacles. They were data points. They were meat.
I stood up straight, my eyes narrowing. The noise of their lies was still there, but now it sounded like music. A pathetic, predictable song that I knew exactly how to conduct.
I looked toward the exit. I didn't need Seo-Yun. I didn't need the child.
I needed to win.
I stepped through the crowd, my movements sharp and decisive. I didn't care about the truth anymore. I cared about the game.
Behind me, the little girl hugged her rabbit tighter.
*He's gone,* she thought.
And she was right. Kurogami Ren was still there, but the man who hated the noise had been replaced by something much more dangerous.
A player who had learned to love the kill.
I walked out of the Glass House and into the neon night, the Crimson Shard burning in my blood like a second sun.
The hunt was no longer just a necessity. It was a hunger.
And I was starving.