Next morning
Samantha awoke not to the familiar, cloying fog of fatigue, but to a jarring hum of energy thrumming just beneath her skin. For a breathtaking, terrifying moment, she felt weightless, powerful. Sunlight, thick and golden, streamed through her bedroom window, illuminating a universe of dancing dust motes. It didn't feel like a gentle dawn; it felt accusatory, a spotlight thrown onto a crime scene. She stretched, her muscles responding with a taut, satisfying ache that was more invigorating than painful. This body, this vessel, was no longer a fragile prison of glass. It was a weapon.
And yet, as her feet touched the cool wood of the floor, she had never felt more trapped.
The atmosphere at the breakfast table was an exercise in excruciating, loving denial. The air was thick with the scent of tamagoyaki and miso soup, but it was choked by the unspoken horrors of the previous night. Her parents, Elena and Kenjiro, moved with a forced, brittle cheerfulness that was far more unnerving than tears or anger. They talked at her, not to her, their words a smothering blanket of concern.
"You must be exhausted, Sami-chan," her mother said, placing a bowl of rice before her with hands that trembled slightly. "You need to take it easy. No strenuous activity. Just rest."
"Your mother's right," her father added, his eyes fixed on his newspaper, though Samantha knew he wasn't reading a single word. "The shock must have been… significant. We'll handle everything. You just focus on recovering."
Recovering? The word was a bitter joke. She had never been more recovered in her life. The girl who needed recovery was the weak, sickly creature they still saw when they looked at her. The girl who now wore her face had broken bones with her bare hands and felt a man's life gurgle out around her fingers. The disconnect was so vast, so profound, it made her feel dizzy.
Elena sat down, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, a bright, artificial smile plastered on her face. It was the smile of a woman holding back a scream. She delivered the killing blow with the gentle, loving cadence of a lullaby.
"The school called this morning, dear. I spoke with your homeroom teacher, Cruz-sensei. I explained there was a family emergency and that you and Ren had a significant shock." She took a sip of her tea, her movements perfectly composed. "I told them you'll be taking the entire week off to recover. And Ren-kun, the hospital just called. They're discharging him this afternoon. We can all be together again. A whole family, resting at home."
The trap, elegant and inescapable, snapped shut.
Samantha's fork clattered against her plate. A week. An entire week off school. The words echoed in the sudden, roaring silence of her mind. Her Main Mission, the reason she had been given this power in the first place, flashed in her vision, its five-star difficulty rating mocking her.
[Main Mission #3: The Jounan High Purification]
[Objective: Identify and Neutralize the Source of the 'Rage Contagion' Infiltrating Your School.]
[Time Limit: 29 Days, 23 Hours…]
How was she supposed to investigate a corruption at her school when she was forbidden from setting foot on its grounds? Her parents, in their desperate, loving attempt to protect her, had just become the System's most effective agents. They had crippled her before she'd even taken her first step.
"That's… that's great, Kaa-san," she managed to say, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.
The gilded cage wasn't just built. It was locked.
The hospital smelled of floor cleaner and quiet suffering. The cheerful pastels of the walls did nothing to mask the underlying current of anxiety that hummed beneath the surface, a low-frequency thrum of beeping machines and hushed, serious conversations.
They had come to collect the butcher's bill.
Ren was not walking out to meet them. He was wheeled out by a nurse, his frame looking small and diminished in the bulky hospital-issue wheelchair. The vibrant, confident energy that was so intrinsic to Kisaragi Ren had been leeched out of him, leaving behind a pale, hollowed-out echo. The bruises on his face had deepened overnight into a grotesque constellation of blacks, blues, and sickly yellows. He was a living testament to the price of the "client" wanting her. The sight was a physical blow, a punch to Samantha's gut that left her breathless with a fresh wave of guilt and incandescent rage.
Dr. Hayashi, the attending physician, met them with a grim, professional air. He held up a series of X-rays to the light, pointing out the damage with a detached, clinical precision.
"Physically, he will recover," the doctor explained, his voice calm and even. "But it will be a slow process. He has two fractured ribs here, and significant deep tissue bruising across his torso and back. That means no sports, no strenuous activity, for at least six to eight weeks. We have to be vigilant for any signs of complications."
He switched the X-ray for a brain scan. "The concussion is minor, but we can't dismiss it. He may experience lingering effects for some time. Headaches, sensitivity to light, difficulty concentrating. He's not to push himself, mentally or physically. He needs absolute rest."
The words were a death sentence to the Ren she knew. The student council president, the top of his class, the boy who thrived on challenge and responsibility. The System, or whoever was behind it, hadn't just beaten him. They had effectively removed him from the board, neutralizing him as a physical or even strategic protector. He was now a liability. Another fragile thing she had to defend. The weight of it was crushing.
Akemi was there, a silent statue of lethal grace who had arrived minutes before them. She handled the discharge paperwork with a terrifying efficiency, her voice low and firm, her gaze so intense that the hospital administrators and nurses seemed to shrink in her presence. She moved with a purpose that was entirely alien to the bureaucratic shuffle of the hospital, a predator navigating a herd of slow-moving herbivores.
The drive home was a fragile, quiet affair. Ren was in the back seat this time, his head resting wearily against Samantha's shoulder. He had drifted off almost immediately, his breathing shallow but even. His vulnerability was a raw, open nerve. He felt so breakable, his warmth seeping into her side, a stark contrast to the cold hum of power that was now her constant companion.
It was in this moment of quiet, aching tenderness that the System, with its impeccable, bastardly timing, chose to twist the knife.
TING!
The chime was a sliver of ice in her brain. A notification window, bordered in a lurid, mocking shade of pink, flashed into her vision, overlaying the peaceful image of her sleeping brother.
[Daily Relationship Mission: A 'Practice' Date - UPDATE!]
Oh no.
[Progress Detected: 'Practice Date' with target 'Suzuki Liza' has been successfully initiated via text message. System acknowledges user initiative in the face of logistical difficulties. Stakes are being recalibrated to reflect increased user engagement and potential for significant romantic development.]
Samantha's heart hammered against her ribs. Recalibrating? What does that mean?
The text on the screen shifted, the old rewards and penalties dissolving into pixels before re-forming into something new. Something far worse.
[NEW REWARD FOR SUCCESS:]
[Skill Acquired: Presence Detection (Rank: E)]
[Description: A passive extrasensory awareness. Allows the user to feel hostile intent, active observation, or extreme emotional states within a 10-meter radius. A vital tool for the hunter… and the hunted.]
Her breath caught in her throat. It was perfect. It was the exact skill she needed. A way to sense danger before it struck, a way to navigate the corrupted halls of her school and identify the source of the Rage Contagion. The System wasn't just offering a reward; it was offering a lifeline, dangling the perfect, irresistible carrot.
Then, her eyes dropped to the line below, and the blood ran cold in her veins.
[NEW PENALTY FOR FAILURE:]
[Penalty Restructured: 'Affliction Transfer' Protocol Activated.]
[Description: Should the user fail to complete the 'Practice Date' mission within the allotted time, the penalty of Stage 1 'Cursed Physique' Activation (Grotesque Muscular Hypertrophy & Chronic Anemia) will no longer be applied to the Host. The penalty will instead be transferred to the mission target, 'Suzuki Liza'. Duration: One (1) week.]
Samantha felt the bile rise in her throat. She had to read it again, the words refusing to make sense. Transfer? To Liza?
The System had done something monstrous. It had taken the stakes, which had been about her own self-preservation and vanity, and transformed them into a moral horror of unimaginable proportions. Failure no longer meant she would suffer. It meant she would actively, directly, cause her best friend to suffer a grotesque, humiliating, and terrifying affliction. She would become the monster that hurt the people she was trying to protect.
This wasn't a game anymore. It was a hostage situation. The System was holding Liza's well-being, her very body, ransom for a stupid, romantic side quest. She had to succeed. She had to go on this date. There was no other choice. The alternative was unthinkable.
Back home, her bedroom felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in, her parents' loving concern a palpable, suffocating force. Every creak in the hallway was a potential interruption, every gentle knock on her door a threat to her secrecy. She was a prisoner in a fortress of love.
Ren was settled in his own room, sedated and sleeping. Her parents were a constant, hovering presence, bringing her snacks she didn't want and glasses of water she didn't need. The house arrest was absolute.
She waited until twilight, until the house settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening. Under the pretense of a long, hot shower to "calm her nerves," she locked herself in the bathroom, her burner phone clutched in a sweaty palm.
She had only one move left on the board. One terrifying, desperate gambit.
She texted Akemi.
Sam: Akemi-nee. I need your help. It's important.
The reply was swift.
Akemi: Location?
Sam: My backyard. By the fence. Now. Please.
Minutes later, Samantha slipped out the back door, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The cool night air was a relief against her flushed skin. Akemi was already there, leaning against the fence as if she had materialized from the shadows themselves. In the dim twilight, she was less a high school girl and more a creature of the night, all sharp angles and lethal stillness.
"This is becoming a habit, Sam-chan," Akemi said, her voice a low murmur that didn't carry past the small space between them. "Meeting in secret. Whispering about monsters."
Samantha took a deep breath, knowing she couldn't tell the full, insane truth. But she couldn't afford to lie, not completely. Not to Akemi. She settled on a partial, desperate honesty.
"I need an alibi," she began, the words tumbling out in a rushed whisper. "An unbreakable one. I have to meet someone on Sunday. My parents have me on total lockdown. It's… it's important. I think it's connected to what happened to Onii-chan."
Akemi's eyes, which had been casually observant, narrowed. She pushed off the fence, her entire posture shifting into one of sharp, analytical focus. She was not a fool. She could smell the lie clinging to the truth.
"This isn't just about a secret date, is it?" Akemi's voice was flat, cutting through Samantha's desperation. "I saw your face in the waiting room when you were talking to… whatever it is you talk to. You're scared. But not like you were in the warehouse. That was the fear of prey. This," she took a step closer, her gaze pinning Samantha in place, "this is a different kind of fear. You look like a soldier planning a campaign in a war you know you're losing."
The accuracy of the statement stole the breath from Samantha's lungs. She could only nod, a single, jerky motion.
Akemi was silent for a long, heavy moment, her dark eyes searching Samantha's face, peeling back the layers of fear and deception. Samantha felt utterly transparent, a specimen under a microscope. Finally, Akemi gave a single, curt nod.
"Fine," she said, the word clipped and decisive. "I'll be your alibi. I will tell your parents I am taking you for a private training session at my family's dojo. For self-defense. After what happened," a flicker of something cold and dangerous flashed in her eyes, "they will not refuse. They'll believe me."
Relief, so potent it made Samantha's knees weak, washed over her. "Thank you, Akemi-nee. I—"
"But in return," Akemi cut her off, her voice dropping, becoming as hard and cold as diamond. "You tell me everything. No more secrets. No more lies about 'metal pipes.' I see the way you look at shadows now. I know you're seeing something I'm not. What happened to Ren… that was not the end of it. This 'client,' this threat… it's still out there. We end it. Together."
It wasn't a request. It was a command. An offer of alliance forged in the fire of their shared trauma. Not as friends. But as two weapons, now aimed at the same unseen enemy.
"Okay," Samantha breathed, the word a vow. "Together."
Back in the suffocating safety of her room, alibi secured, Samantha felt a sliver of control return. She finalized the plan with Liza, her fingers flying across the burner phone's keypad.
Liza: OMG YAY! An alibi from the Ice Queen herself! You're a legend, Sam-chan! Okay, Sunday it is! Ooh, I have the perfect idea! There's a brand new wing at the Shibuya Grand Mall, right near Jounan High. It just opened! We can get our parfaits and check it out! It'll be perfect! 🥰
The words, bubbly and innocent, hung on the screen.
Right near Jounan High.
The location Liza had chosen, in perfect, blissful ignorance, was ground zero. The place where she had witnessed the first symptoms of the Rage Contagion. The place at the very heart of her five-star mission.
The final image of the night was burned into Samantha's mind: her own face, pale and taut, illuminated by the phone's sickly blue glow. The innocent pink hearts and kissy-face emojis from Liza were a grotesque, mocking counterpoint to the dawning horror in her eyes.
Her 'practice date' was no longer a side quest. It wasn't about saving herself from bad skin or even saving Liza from a grotesque affliction. The System, in its infinite, malevolent wisdom, had just maneuvered her into a reconnaissance mission, deep inside enemy territory. And her bubbly, unsuspecting best friend was her ticket in.
Her eyes flicked to the corner of her vision where the System's mission log remained, a silent, glowing taunt.
The school. The Corruption. The romance. The date.
Her life was no longer her own. It was a tangled, horrifying mess of conflicting objectives and impossible stakes. And she was standing right at the center of the impending explosion.
"So," Akemi's voice from the backyard echoed in her memory, a chilling premonition. "It ends. We end it."
But what if, a small, terrified voice whispered in the deepest part of her soul, it ends us first?