It was supposed to be morning, but no warmth touched the cobbled streets of Green Digitalus. No sun, only light. Cold, artificial light that bled from the ceiling of the city dome—a simulation of a sky that once tried to mimic reality. But now even that was smothered.
A massive blue projector hovered above the plaza, an unblinking eye, spreading its veil across the skyline—a second false heaven. It pulsed with slow, mechanical rhythm. Below it, a sea of green icons crowded the earth, a plague of thoughts left unsaid.
They filled every inch of the city square. From the crystal data-arches of Seikatsu Gate to the fractured railways of Neon Cradle, bodies pressed in—too many minds, too little breath. The air itself felt borrowed, strained, ripped apart by a million lungs and a million worries. Oxygen belonged to the loudest.
"She's a Japanese AI, isn't she?! This Minerva—this whole cursed system!" A man in a scuffed jacket yelled up at the towering projector, where a blue-haired idol avatar stared serenely down on the crowd. His icon glitched from green to red as his voice climbed. He was one of many. A dozen others in street skins, foreign-styled armour, or beast-formed avatars rallied around him.
"Speak English, dammit! You got us all stuck here!" another yelled, pointing aggressively at a small cluster of Japanese players who huddled near the LED vending stall, trying not to look overwhelmed.
The dome lowered in every skull. A wolf moved there—old winter on its back, new breath in its chest, coat shedding in dull strips. The crowd felt the animal at once: a hunger nosing at the thought of home, a soft yelp for the child left at a kitchen table, a low growl for the mother who would not answer messages, the mate whose last text hung unfinished.
The wolf trotted across languages the way wind crosses grass; the auto-translate made the mouths agree while the hearts kept their own dialects. A thousand private dens, one shared snarl.
A young woman with a cherry blossom tattoo under her eye shouted back, trembling with frustration, "We didn't do this! It's not just Japan trapped—everyone's in this!"
"But it's your country's tech! Your government closed its borders! You think it's a coincidence we can't log out the same week Kyoto went dark?"
Voices braided, then frayed. The projector's blue washed the faces and left them paler. The eye in the sky kept time; the plaza kept pace; the wolf kept circling. Under ribs, something thawed that did not soothe—sap rising into the wrong branches, tender and stinging. The promise of change pressed under the bruise of fear, and the bruise answered with teeth.
No one stood alone inside the noise. Each mind carried a small, spinning world: a kitchen clock ticking in an empty flat; a baby's sock in a coat pocket; an unanswered call log; a rent due; a name on a hospital wristband; a dog that would scratch the door until its paws bled. The spheres bumped, sparked, drifted apart. The wolf tested each sphere, breathed on it, listened for a crack.
"Why won't the log-out work—"
"Don't touch me—"
"Where is the dev team—"
"She's lying—he's lying—"
"This isn't real—"
"It feels real—"
Arguments bled into screams. Someone threw a canister—virtual debris clattering against pavement.
A fight bloomed, then withered under a rush of bodies; an avatar fell; an icon flashed red, then green again; the crowd reeled and settled the way a pack settles after a lunge—ears up, flanks shaking, not finished. Above, the blue eye dimmed and brightened, indifferent.
Change had already entered the square on silent feet. It did not ask permission; it brushed past thighs and belts and holsters; it slipped its head under the dome and lifted, a fraction.
The wolf scented it—wet earth somewhere beyond circuits—and for one held breath the plaza remembered the word for morning. Then the projector throbbed, the eye resumed its patient blankness, and the minds closed their doors again, each with a wolf on the threshold.
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Decker's fist cracked against the round table, rattling the half-empty glass beside him. The bar hushed; NPC laughter stalled mid-frame, a few players glanced over and then down again.
Decker grumbled and sank into his seat. "Tch, my bad, gang."
Winter didn't flinch. He leaned in, fingers steepled under his chin, gaze calm but tight. "We don't have time to fight each other. That's already happening out there." A nod toward the walls, the city's muffled roar pushing at the seams. "There's a power source feeding the barrier. I don't know what it is yet… but from what I found, it seems to have a connection to a quest."
Kompto's elbows found his knees. "And you think we can shut it down if we complete this quest?"
"If we can even find it." Winter's mouth folded into a bitter line. "Problem is, there are thousands of quest lines scattered through this city, and everyone's out hunting for a scapegoat. Guess who drew the mark?" He tapped his chest. "Us. Japanese players. They think we built the prison or hold the keys or both."
Decker folded his arms. "Then smash through. Tear this thing down. We convinced those retards with force if we must."
"Are you stupid" Kompto's voice came flat, tired. "You saw the square. One wrong spark and it's a stampede."
Winter nodded. "We need to hide our faces, blend in. The system's watching. So are the mobs. This isn't about force—it's about when to use it."
"So we're punished for something we didn't cause." Ji-Soon tugged his sleeve smooth, eyes flicking to nothing. "Not fair… but when is fate fair."
Winter watched him a beat, then opened his palm to the table. "Start from the beginning. Everything."
They told it. The Envoyer. The snow. The forest. The blur of blades and teeth. The last flash. And the colour.
Winter's head snapped up. "Hold on—purple cursor?" The sofa creaked. "That's admin. You're telling me you fought one of them and walked out?"
Kazami nodded, once.
"And there's a ranking to them?" Words coiled in his throat.
"Six." A beat, Kompto's fingers tracing an invisible line across the surface. "Gluttony. And they're ranked by order of strength."
Winter stared, then let out the breath he'd been holding. "Sixth. So basically the second weakest…"
Kompto shook his head, eyes cutting to Tang-Ji. "Second weakest still almost erased us. He was driving the Dusk Protocol—commanding Husk, regen off the charts, poison ticking through the line, wide-area bursts that turned the field into a furnace. But she knew our abilities better than we did. She assigned our roles on the fly, chained cooldowns, timed purges and interrupts, and forced a breach. Without those calls, we'd be dead."
Winter's gaze slid to Tang-Ji. "You planned the counter?"
Tang-Ji blinked. "I didn't plan it," thumb worrying her cuff. "It just… clicked. For a moment it felt like I was borrowing someone else's memories. I knew what each of you could do—where to stand, when to move—more than I ever should."
Winter's expression loosened, then folded in on itself. His gaze moved from her to the others, checking their faces, searching for any sign they shared whatever she had just described. "So that's the reverie thing you mentioned," it came out slowly.
"You're telling me you saw their moves in your head before they made them." The words landed careful, edged with doubt. "Crazy or not, it kept you all breathing. If sixth showed himself to you guys then we'll see more purple cursors. Count on it."
He turned to Ji-Soon. "Kang, right? I heard you tried to—"
The sentence broke on the hook between Ji-Soon and Kazami. That earlier argument was still hanging in the room; the two of them caught it with a glance and looked away in the same heartbeat.
Across from them, Tang-Ji and Ukiyo kept their silence. Tang-Ji's eyes on her mug; Ukiyo's on nothing at all.
Decker felt it. He tipped back and barked a laugh that didn't travel far. "Okay, what's with you three?"
Tang-Ji startled. "Huh?"
"Don't 'huh' me. You're sitting funeral-still. If there's something to say, say it." He jerked a thumb toward the ceiling projector. "While we're winning quiet-wars with our feelings, that barrier is gonna continue to stand until we run out of time."
No one moved.
Kompto broke the pause. "He's right." A tilt of the head, almost apologetic. "Planning is necessary. Silence is a luxury."
Decker barked a laugh, slouching back. He repeated the phrase in a warped, sing-song drawl—"si~lence is a lu~xury"—under his breath before snapping back to full volume. "I'm starting to notice your dumb habit of dropping one-liners. You ain't cool, mate, spouting all that bullshit."
Winter's look circled the table and came to rest on Ukiyo. "One more thing before we move on." He measured his words. "Back there—you said enough for me to understand who you are. Not an NPC. A real player, embedded. And the man running this place is your father." His voice stayed even. "You're ready to go against him?"
Ukiyo's hands were still on the untouched glass. "Yes."
"And we can trust you to the end of that road?"
Ji-Soon's scoff was immediate. "Finally, someone using their head. That's what I've been saying—how are we supposed to trust—"
Kazami drew breath to answer—
—and Tang-Ji's palm hit the table. The glass jumped; so did Decker's brow. It was the first real sound from her since they'd sat down.
"She saved us," voice small but hard. "That's enough for me."
A line in Ukiyo's face loosened, then smoothed, almost too fast to see.
Silence, but this time it felt decided.
Junyo scraped his chair back. "I— I'm going to the toilet." He edged between Kompto and Decker, clutching his arm as though it might bite. Decker watched the hunch in his shoulders; Kompto watched too and said nothing.
When the door shut behind Junyo, Decker rolled his neck and pointed his chin at the dead air. "We still need a leader. Group this size with no caller gets buried."
Kazami's answer landed clean. "It should be Tang-Ji."
Everything at the table went still again. Even the jukebox wheeze thinned into the walls.
Decker blinked. "What?"
"Back there, when we fought him… she already knew how every one of our Leere worked. Not just what they did—how we'd move, where we'd break, exactly when to push back. She coordinated without barely speaking."
Winter leaned back, one arm draped over the sofa. "You all lived through an admin confrontation—with her calling shadows." A small shrug, an easy nod. "Hard to argue with that. Call it how you want; I'll roll with it."
Decker drummed a finger. "She did all that?" A beat. "I Didn't hear her talking."
"She didn't." Kompto's gaze stayed on Tang-Ji. "She acted. That's rarer."
"Still doesn't mean she wants the job." Blunt, not cruel. Decker tipped his chin toward her. "No offense, but you look ready to pass out if someone asked you for directions."
Tang-Ji kept her eyes down. "I'm… not that person." It was quiet, but steady. "I didn't plan anything. I was scared. It felt like… moving through someone else's shadow. I saw things that didn't feel like me. I'm not a leader."
Kompto's gaze didn't waver."You were there. You didn't run. You saw paths none of us did."
"You saw us," Kazami's voice followed, softer, landing beside it
Ji-Soon slipped a coin from his pocket, set it rolling between his fingers until it sang against the wood. "Maybe that's who you were always meant to be," it came out softer than before. "Even fate cheats sometimes. But when the coin lands… it lands."
Tang-Ji looked from face to face and didn't look away.
"I don't know if I can lead."
Winter drew a slow breath. "Maybe you don't have to know," he answered. "Maybe it's enough that we do."
The quiet didn't break; it settled. Kompto gave a single, deliberate nod. Emiko's mouth tipped, not a smile. Decker grunted, which in his language landed near agreement. Kazami's hand eased off his knee. Ukiyo lowered her eyes, relief passing through her like a shadow.
The door clicked; Junyo slipped back in, hoodie up, eyes rimmed. He took in the faces, the stillness, the center of it. "Tang-Ji?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"Yeah," Decker pushed the table back an inch. "Don't make me say it twice."
Winter set his palms flat on the table. "Then it's settled. We move together. Tang-Ji calls it."
Outside, the false sky dimmed another degree, the city holding its breath while they found theirs.
Winter glanced around the table one last time, decision settling behind his eyes. "One final thing. You all heard the system notice earlier. Only a registered guild that clears the last boss gets the exit key." He tapped the tabletop once. "We need to form one. Now."
A few heads lifted. Emiko's jaw set; Kompto leaned in; Decker's heel started drumming.
Ukiyo spoke for the first time in minutes, voice even. "Even if that rule stands, we're getting everyone out. Not just the victors." A small pause. "But a guild keeps us threaded. Shared channel, proximity alerts. Health bars visible. If one of us drops, the rest will know."
Winter nodded. "Then it's settled."
Decker kicked his stool straight. "Great. Name it." He pointed a thumb at Tang-Ji. "Boss's call."
The answer arrived before thought. "V.S.K.R."
Silence blinked. Tang-Ji's hand hovered over her cup, surprised at her own mouth. "I… don't know why I said that."
Kazami frowned. "V.S.K.R…?"
Kompto's brow creased behind the lenses. "An acronym?"
Emiko tilted her head. "For what?"
Ji-Soon studied Tang-Ji, then the letters, turning them once in his mind. "Void Seeker?"
The word moved through the group like a current.
Ukiyo's gaze warmed by a degree. "Seeker of Leere. In German, 'Leere' can mean void. Also carries soul."
Decker snorted, louder this time. "Void hunters, soul finders… seriously? We're sticking with that? There are a hundred tougher names out there." His hand flicked in the air, waiting for someone to bite, to argue, to let him tear it apart.
No one did.
Ji-Soon spun a coin; it rang, settled. "V.S.K.R," he echoed, tasting it. "Clean. Hard edges."
Tang-Ji let out a breath she hadn't noticed holding. "If you guys are okay with it… then we can use it."
Decker clicked his tongue, looking away. "Tch. Whatever. Call it what you want."
Winter brought up the interface with a flick. "Guild registration: V.S.K.R. Leader—Tang-Ji. Officers… we'll sort permissions after we survive the next hour."
A faint chime threaded the room—system acknowledgment, quiet as a pin on carpet.
Kompto's mouth twitched toward approval. Emiko's eyes sparked, then cooled into focus. Decker rolled his shoulders, tension cracking and falling away in small clicks. Kazami's hand rested open against the wood. Ukiyo dipped her chin once, something unmasked and quickly sheathed.
Outside, the dome's light shifted a shade brighter—no warmth, just the hint of movement—enough to suggest a hinge turning somewhere none of them could see.
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Chairs scraped, boots shifted; the room moved toward standing. Kompto slid down from the back of the sofa in one smooth motion, then stopped halfway, fingers braced on the cushions.
"Before everyone runs off," he drawled, eyes catching the bar's dim light, "one last thing."
Decker's head snapped round, jaw tightening. "You done? There's a limit to how much I can handle this yapping. We get it. Mysterious unc with dramatic timing. Can we move before the city burns down, or you got another fortune-cookie one-liner to waste our time?"
Kompto's mouth twitched. He adjusted his wrist watch with two fingers, utterly unbothered. "In my line of work, I prefer to know who I'm bleeding with. Real names. Easier to trust someone you can call by something human."
Ji-Soon's brows lifted. "Thought your job was office work. Spreadsheets and coffee runs."
A beat. Kompto did not blink. "It is a cultural thing."
Decker snorted, rolling his shoulders. "Trash culture. We clear now? You done playing therapist?"
"Regardless." Kompto looked around the circle. "Kompto is the handle. Off-game, it is Creed. Use that from now on."
Ukiyo's gaze dipped, then lifted again to meet the others. "Then I will share too. My real name is Hoyeon."
Winter tipped his head back against the chair, arms loosely folded. "Setsurei," he offered, almost lazy. "Not much difference from my user name, so feel free to call be whatever you feel comfortable with. Been using it long enough that it might as well be my real name."
Kazami's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Snow and cold in one word. You doubled the weather."
Winter's lips quirked, an almost-smile. "Efficient branding."
Attention slid to Decker. It started as a few glances, then became a weight. Even he could feel it.
He scoffed. "What? You lot want my full family registry now? You don't need my name to follow orders. You just need to keep up."
Emiko folded her arms, hip jutting. "What, is it something tragic? 'Top G-kun'? 'Sigma-sama'? Or did your mum name you after how you turned out—loud, fragile, with brain damage?"
"Tch." He looked away, then back, teeth grit. "You really think I'm tossing my real name to a room full of randos who tried to kill each other last week?"
Ji-Soon rolled his shoulders with a tired sigh. "We already almost died together. That counts for something."
Creed's gaze stayed steady. "Names are leverage. That is true. They are also anchors."
Decker clicked his tongue, the sound sharp. Silence pressed in for a few beats, thick with waiting and his own stubborn pride.
"…Anton." The word landed hard, heavier than he wanted it to. "There. You happy?"
Emiko blinked once, then a slow, wicked grin tugged at her mouth. "Anton, huh? That's such a basic white-boy name. Kinda perfect, honestly—a basic name for a basic guy."
"Shut it, bitch." His ears flushed red beneath the hairline. "Better than 'Emiko', obnoxious, loud, attention seeking whore."
"At least I don't sound like a virgin pretending to be a fuckboy."
They were still snapping at each other as the moment moved past them, their argument falling into the background hum.
The discussion settled, dust after a storm. Everyone had come to a reluctant agreement—Tang-Ji would lead, despite her protests—and the group would now be known, for lack of a better name, as "V.S.K.R." It was not catchy, but it felt solid enough, a line drawn in sand already crowded with footprints and blood.
Winter laid out the first plan of action: split up, scout the city, find out what was happening beneath the noise. They could not just run blind. Not with the game unravelling around them.
The bar's glass door creaked open as, one by one, they filtered into the cold artificial light of the street. Neon signs buzzed overhead, insects trapped forever mid-flight above empty buildings, casting crimson and violet shadows across cracked concrete.
Somewhere far off, glass shattered, followed by a distant, static-laced scream. The city centre had become a riot zone. Most of the players had either died, turned violent, or simply vanished.
Kazami was one of the last to leave—until the bell above the bar door chimed behind him, a small, bright sound in the heavy air.
Junyo emerged from behind, rubbing his hands with too much care. His eyes lifted to Kazami, then slipped away again.
"Oh. Hey." The greeting came out a little too casual.
"You good?" Kazami stepped just enough to block the path, not quite touching, but present.
Junyo hesitated. "Yeah. Just needed a second. All that planning has my head spinning."
"You were gone a while."
"I get nervous, okay?" A thin laugh escaped him; his hand went to the back of his neck, scratching the itch. "Hey—uh, Kazami. You remember what that guy said? Esmeray. About the Desidica Seed?"
Kazami blinked once. "So you heard him."
Junyo's mouth opened on something more, but the words hung there, unformed.
"Never mind. We should catch up." He shifted to slip past.
Kazami moved a step to block the way. "Then we go together. I was going to search with you anyway. And… there's something I've been meaning to talk about."
Junyo stilled for a heartbeat. The strain in his shoulders eased by degrees, and a small, lopsided grin found its way onto his face. "Man, you pick the worst timing. But sure. Let's talk."