The room was half-dark.
The only light came from the monitor, casting a bluish glow across the wall and Tomoya Aki's tilted face. The computer's fan hummed steadily, muffled only by the irregular whir of the ceiling fan spinning slowly above.
He was at the keyboard again.
No music. No coffee. No distractions.
The screen displayed a new file, simply titled v1_reconstruction. The cursor blinked on the first line. The blank page seemed to judge him.
Tomoya squared his shoulders. Cracked his knuckles.
Then he began typing.
The sound of the keys quickened.
Tomoya pressed harder than necessary, as if each word needed to be anchored into the file, not just typed. The screen's light flickered faintly with each new paragraph, but he didn't notice.
'This time it'll be different. I'll deliver it to her. She'll thank me for finally meeting me, and then I'll invite her to the club and to work on my game.'
The narrative code flowed with more emotion. The protagonist, once passive, now spoke with conviction. The heroine didn't just observe—she smiled. Agreed. Acknowledged.
'No one's getting in my way.'
Anger rose like a silent heat in his chest.
An image of Yuta flashed unbidden in his mind.
That calm gaze. The ease of walking with them.
And then… the wink.
Utaha's.
The cursor froze for a second.
Tomoya clenched his teeth.
The monitor's light flickered faintly—almost imperceptible.
The bottom line of code scrambled for a moment, as if the text itself had shuddered.
But he kept typing.
The CPU fan let out a sharper whine, as if the effort was beyond normal.
Tchlim.
The sharp sound of a Toknet notification cut through the tense silence of the room.
Tomoya narrowed his eyes at the name in the corner of the screen: Eriri Spencer Sawamura.
> "Are you still taking forever to start the game project?"
The cursor, once blinking urgently, now seemed to mock him.
Tomoya shoved his chair back forcefully, his fingers trembling over the keyboard.
He typed quickly. Each word heavy.
"I waited years since you abandoned me and stopped being my friend in childhood… and you can't wait a few days?"
Sent.
The message sat there.
Read.
No reply.
Nothing.
His chest tightened. His hands returned to the keyboard but hesitated.
In the corner of the screen, for less than a second, a question mark flickered—in the bottom corner, where nothing should ever be.
Then it vanished.
And then… the project code flickered.
Two words in the text swapped places on their own.
Without command.
And the fan's hum shifted slightly in pitch.
Tomoya resumed typing. The words came fast, hard, driven by the anger that hadn't fully vented.
He adjusted phrases, rewrote lines, cut paragraphs with surgical precision.
It wasn't just editing. It was refinement.
The original Utaha was there, but now it was more.
More cohesive.
More direct.
More emotional.
The final file was thirty-two pages. Title unchanged, style preserved—but transformed.
Tomoya closed the document. Saved it.
He grabbed the new black flash drive on the desk, plugged it in firmly. Transferred the file with a coded name.
Not just the edited script.
There was more.
Fragments of other files. Notes. Diagrams. Revision marks. Small layers of his work—for her to see everything. Understand everything.
When the transfer finished, he ejected it carefully.
The flash drive sat between his fingers like a trophy.
'With this, I can finally introduce myself to Utaha as the mysterious editor… and make her owe me.'
A smile formed.
Small. But genuine.
He spun in his chair. The ceiling fan still creaked above.
But he didn't see.
Behind the monitor's reflection…
A small black symbol spun in the corner of the screen, like a glitch particle.
And then, without warning—it vanished.
A thin, dark line streaked toward the side of the power outlet.
And disappeared.
The flash drive was still there.
But something… was no longer just in the code.
The cursor blinked.
Alone.
Tomoya left the flash drive on the desk, beside the keyboard, like a hard-won relic.
He didn't look at the screen again.
Didn't check the saved files.
Didn't notice the digital weight that had seeped into the device's structure.
He was exhausted.
Mentally drained.
He rose from the chair with tense shoulders, crossed the room, and collapsed onto the bed without changing clothes.
The mattress creaked under the impact.
He turned onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow.
The computer screen still glowed, casting blue light against the wall.
The cursor blinked.
The case fan kept spinning.
The flash drive lay still.
But inside…
Something stirred.
Tomoya didn't know.
But what was in there…
Was no longer just a script.
It was a seed.
Of code.
Of anger.
Of form.
The ceiling fan spun slowly.
The silence seemed ordinary.
But it wasn't.
In the corner of the outlet, a black trace moved as if breathing—then vanished under the wall.
And the room, at last, fell asleep with him.
---
Yuta's Room – 10:34 PM
The room was cold.
Yuta lay in bed, covered up to his waist, eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. The digital clock on the desk read 10:34. Outside, the sound of the wind mingled with the faint rustle of trees.
Everything was quiet.
But inside, something hadn't yet silenced.
'System, show me the mission I unlocked.'
[Interface loading…]
Yuta's gaze stayed on the ceiling, but before his eyes, a translucent blue screen formed silently—clean, sharp, floating in the cold air of the room.
---
[JJK System Mission Panel]
[Ding! Special mission "Cursed Object" registered.]
[Active Mission – Level: Hidden]
Title: Guardian of Silent Words
Objective: Protect the bearer of the Cursed Object (unidentified) from any spiritual or cursed approach.
Additional Condition: Destroy the object after confirming its cursed nature.
Designated Target: Bearer (unconsciously identified): Kasumigaoka Utaha
Object Status: Not yet delivered to the bearer.
Reward:
+1 Special Ability: Forge Protective Amulet
(Grants the ability to create talismans that block low- to mid-level curses for a limited time.)
---
[System Note: The mission will fully activate once the object is in the bearer's possession.]
[Risk Status: Dormant.]
[Interface will close in 10 seconds…]
---
'A protection mission… and a chance to level up by eliminating anything that gets near Utaha. Plus, with the reward, I could even sell those amulets and get out of this house.'
The thought echoed firmly in Yuta's mind, even with his body sunk into the mattress.
The cold didn't bother him—the plan was set. Simple. Direct. Practical.
The mission didn't demand more than he was already doing. And, for the first time, the path seemed clear.
The screen had vanished.
But the idea… hadn't.
It lingered, vibrating silently, like a second breath.
The ceiling fan spun slowly. The street was mute.
And Yuta's eyes closed calmly.
He didn't know when the object would reach her hands.
But he knew what to do when it did.
And, for now, that was enough.
Sleep came slowly.
Steady.
Silent.
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