Rain was pouring across the Konohagure Headquarters like the sky itself was grieving. Thunder cracked over the crimson roofs, flashes of lightning revealing the grim banner that once bore Daizo's name — now lowered, torn, and soaked. Inside the old hall, candles flickered unevenly, the smell of incense and metal mixed with something heavier: grief.
Kenta Moroboshi sat alone at the long table, head buried in his hands. His knuckles bled — not from battle, but from how hard he kept slamming the table, over and over, as if it'd undo Daizo's death.
"Why… why'd it have to be him…" he muttered, voice breaking into a hoarse whisper.
Hajime leaned against the wall, eyes red but distant. "You think Hydro let him live? You saw what he did to Hiroshi. To the other family. He doesn't spare people, Kenta. Not anymore."
"Shut your damn mouth, Hajime!" Kenta shouted, throwing a glass at the wall — it shattered, the shards scattering like the remnants of their pride. "Daizo wasn't supposed to die! He was—he was our backbone, dammit! The one who held us all together!"
Takeshi, sitting quietly in the corner, finally spoke. His voice was low but trembling. "He's gone. You yelling ain't bringing him back. You think Daizo would want to see you breaking down like this? He was cruel, yeah, but he never cried over failure."
"Failure?!" Kenta's voice cracked. "This isn't failure, Takeshi, this is the end of our name! Daizo's death means Hydro won. He killed what's left of us!"
The hall went silent. The weight of that word — *killed* — lingered like poison in their throats.
Then, a low hum echoed across the room. The candles flickered again, their flames shifting from orange to a pale, digital blue. A cold wind blew through the headquarters, though no windows were open.
And then — the door creaked open.
Every member turned.
A tall figure entered, wrapped in a long black coat that rippled like a liquid shadow. His presence was unreal — almost divine, almost wrong. His hair was white, short and disheveled, and his eyes glowed faintly like the circuitry of a machine. But it was his aura — calm, heavy, and ancient — that froze the entire hall in silence.
He spoke, voice echoing with a faint distortion, like static.
"Don't be afraid. I've been watching… for a long time."
The clan members instinctively stepped back. Hajime drew his blade, but it flickered uselessly in his grip — the man's presence alone was enough to bend the rules of the room.
Kenta gritted his teeth. "Who the hell are you?"
The figure raised his hand slightly. "They used to call me the Arbiter. Creator of the Judgment System."
Everyone froze. Even Takeshi looked up, disbelief spreading across his face.
"The Judgment System?" Daisuke muttered. "You mean… the one that Hydro destroyed?"
The Arbiter smiled faintly, almost nostalgic. "Destroyed? No. Systems don't die, Daisuke. They evolve. What Hydro erased was merely the interface. The heart still beats… and it beats here."
Kenta slammed the table again, though his voice was softer now — desperate. "Why are you here? You think we can help you? You're a goddamn machine, aren't you?!"
"I was," the Arbiter said simply, stepping closer. "Until I saw what Hydro became. He defied my judgment. He tore through divine order like a virus that learned to think. And now…" His eyes shifted from one member to the next. "I need your help to fix what's broken. Not to kill him — not yet — but to contain the damage."
Hajime crossed his arms. "And why the hell would we help the man who created the system that ruined half our lives?"
The Arbiter looked directly at him. "Because Daizo Konohagure was one of my chosen. One of the first players in the original prototype of the System. A man meant to balance light and shadow. But Hydro… he broke that balance. He stole Daizo's victory, corrupted the script, and rewrote the story himself."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Kenta clenched his fists. "So you're saying Daizo was a player? Like one of those cursed testers? He never told us—"
"Because he wasn't allowed to," the Arbiter said. "The moment he failed his test, I sealed his data, erased the memory. Hydro's awakening forced that seal open again. That's why Daizo became obsessed with revenge — it wasn't hate. It was corruption."
Takeshi leaned forward. "Then tell us something real. What do you want from us?"
The Arbiter's eyes glowed a deeper blue, and a holographic interface appeared behind him — rotating shards of digital crystal, each pulsating faintly.
"The Paradoxal Shards," he said. "Fragments of the old code. They're what's left of the Original Judgment Core — scattered across both the human world and the cyberspace. If Hydro finds them first, he'll overwrite creation itself. But if we recover them…" He smirked faintly. "We can rewrite him."
Kenta rose to his feet, his despair now mixing with rage. "Rewrite him? You think you can control Hydro Undergrove? He's not just some program — he's a damn monster."
"Monsters can be reprogrammed," the Arbiter replied coldly. "All it takes… is a pen."
He reached into his coat and pulled out something that shimmered like mercury — a sleek, black fountain pen, its nib glowing faintly purple. The Kanji on its side read "毒写 — Dokusha" (Poison Writer).
"This," the Arbiter explained, "is the Giftiger Füllhalter — The Poisoned Pen. It writes new things, but at a cost. Each word inscribed with it infects existence itself. If you write Hydro's name with this pen, the system will recognize him again — and I can reclaim control."
The room went dead silent again.
Takeshi was the first to step forward. "What's the cost?"
The Arbiter smiled thinly. "The writer's own memories. Each command you write will erase a piece of who you are. You'll lose the past you fight for… piece by piece."
Kenta slammed his hand on the table again, but this time it wasn't anger. It was madness, desperation, hope.
"If that's what it takes to bring Daizo's legacy back — then I'll write every damn word."
The Arbiter nodded approvingly. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear."
The rest of the clan members exchanged uncertain glances. Hajime whispered to Daisuke, "He's insane. That pen's gonna kill him."
"Maybe," Daisuke muttered, "but if it means Hydro bleeds again… I'm in."
The Arbiter turned to the rest of them, placing the Poisoned Pen on the table. Its glow reflected in their eyes like a cursed promise.
"Rest for now. Tomorrow, we begin our search for the Paradoxal Shards. And when we find them — the Judgment System will be reborn."
He turned away, walking toward the shadowed corridor of the headquarters. His voice echoed one last time:
"Daizo's death was not the end… it was the signal."
And as the storm raged outside, the pen pulsed once — a faint heartbeat of purple light — before fading into silence.
NEXT MORNING
The sound of a soft alarm buzzed faintly from the side table, echoing through the dim hotel room. Bea groaned, her voice muffled under the blanket as the morning light snuck through the blinds like an unwanted guest.
"...Ugh… already morning?" she mumbled, reaching out blindly for her phone. She tapped at the screen a few times until the alarm stopped, then just lay there, staring at the ceiling for a solid minute.
Her hair was a mess — half-stuck to her cheek, half tangled in the pillow. It smelled faintly of shampoo from last night. Bea sighed, sat up, and rubbed her face before swinging her legs off the bed. The air was cold, and the floor even colder, which made her groan louder as she stumbled toward the bathroom.
The hotel mirror greeted her with a brutal honesty. Puffy eyes, slightly chapped lips, and a faint wrinkle on her shirt that refused to straighten. "Damn," she whispered with a half-smile. "I look like a ghost who lost her job."
She turned the faucet, splashing water on her face, and felt the chill wake her up completely. The cold sting was the first real proof she was still alive after everything that went down days ago. After the fight, after Hydro's mess, after that awful shouting.
The water ran for a moment longer as she stared at her reflection — the exhaustion was there, but underneath it, there was something new. A quiet steadiness. Maybe even peace.
She brushed her teeth, hummed quietly — some random J-pop track she couldn't get out of her head — and then fixed her hair into a loose braid. She wrapped her scarf around her neck, buttoned her coat, and gave herself one last look in the mirror.
"Okay. You got this, Bea. No drama today. Just… exist."
The city outside was alive — and loud.
The early sun bounced off the glass towers, steam rising from street vendors, and chatter echoing across every block. It was one of those mornings where the world felt too busy to care about yesterday's pain.
Bea slipped her earbuds in, letting the music drown out everything else. The track playing was upbeat, almost childish, but she didn't care. It made her smile a little.
First stop — coffee. Always coffee.
The small café near the corner was packed, but the smell of espresso and pastries pulled her in like gravity. She waited in line, scrolling through her phone, checking nothing in particular. People around her talked about work, travel, streaming shows, nothing that mattered but everything that made the world normal again.
When it was her turn, she smiled at the barista. "One caramel macchiato, please. And uh, make it extra warm. I'm not built for the cold."
The barista laughed. "Got you, miss. You visiting?"
"Yeah, just for a bit. Needed to… clear my head."
The barista nodded like he got it — maybe he did. Everyone had something to clear.
She found a corner seat by the window, sipping her drink while watching people rush past. A couple held hands while sharing a croissant. A little kid cried over dropped ice cream. Some girl laughed so hard her boyfriend looked embarrassed. Bea smiled faintly at all of it.
It was weird, how peaceful life could look when yours was still cracked at the edges.
After finishing her coffee, she wandered the streets. The marketplace stretched for blocks, stalls overflowing with clothes, souvenirs, and food that steamed in the chilly morning air. She stopped at one stand selling handmade trinkets — small glass pendants shaped like stars, moons, and even digital-looking shards that reminded her a little too much of Hydro's world.
She picked up a tiny blue one and turned it over in her hand.
"How much?" she asked in Japanese.
The old vendor smiled warmly. "Ah, that one? 800 yen. It's a lucky charm. For travelers who've lost their way."
Bea's chest tightened a little. Travelers who've lost their way.
She pulled out a few bills and paid without another word. The vendor wrapped the charm carefully in tissue and handed it over with both hands.
"Take care of yourself," the woman said softly.
Bea nodded. "I'll try."
She tied the charm to the zipper of her bag before moving on, weaving through the sea of people.
There were food stalls lined up next, the smell of yakitori and takoyaki filling the air. Her stomach growled loud enough to make her laugh. She grabbed a stick of grilled chicken and sat on a nearby bench to eat. The sauce dripped onto the paper plate, her hands warming up from the steam.
Simple things hit the hardest sometimes, she thought, watching pigeons peck at crumbs near her boots.
Hours drifted by like clouds. Bea shopped for small things — a scarf here, a hairpin there. She found a bookstore tucked away between two tall buildings, almost invisible. Inside, the quiet was instant — that sacred silence only bookstores could make. She wandered through the aisles, fingertips brushing against the spines of books she didn't plan to buy.
Her eyes stopped at one — a simple white cover with bold text: "The Things We Leave Behind."
She flipped it open and read the first line:
"Sometimes, we lose people not because they go away, but because we stop reaching out."
Bea froze.
Her fingers lingered on that page for a long time before she shut the book and placed it back.
Later, she found herself sitting at a park bench, the sky starting to fade into a gentle amber hue. The world felt slower here — calmer. Kids played near a frozen fountain, their laughter echoing between the trees. A street performer strummed his guitar nearby, his song soft and almost nostalgic.
She leaned back, watching the sky. "Maybe this is how it's supposed to be," she whispered. "Maybe quiet is what I needed."
Her phone buzzed once. She ignored it, not ready yet. The peace was too rare, too fragile. But then it buzzed again — a different tone this time. Not a notification. A call.
Bea sighed, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out her phone. The caller ID flashed with a name that made her freeze mid-breath.
"Kai Tsuki"
She hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button.
The call rang again.
Her heart picked up. It had been days since any of them had really talked — since the argument. She thought about ignoring it, pretending she didn't see. Pretending everything was still frozen in time. But something inside her whispered, don't run again.
Bea finally swiped to answer.
"...Hello?" she said softly.
On the other end, Kai's voice cracked slightly, like he'd been holding it in for too long.
"Bea… we need to talk. It's about Hydro."
The sound of his name hit like a cold wind — sharp, sudden, and real.
Bea's grip tightened on the phone. The crowd around her blurred for a second, the music, the laughter, the calm — all fading into background noise.
"...What about him?" she asked quietly.
Kai took a deep breath. "I have a theory: He's gone. Not dead — just… gone. Like, literally disappeared. Kristine thinks he's trapped somewhere."
Bea's breath hitched. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was." Kai's voice trembled. "We don't know what to do."
Bea looked out at the horizon — the sun half-set, the city lights starting to flicker alive. Her reflection glinted faintly in the charm tied to her bag.
She whispered, almost to herself, "Travelers who've lost their way…"
Then louder, "Okay. I'm coming back."
LATER
The tension inside Terry's hotel room was thick enough to choke on.
Every light was on, every face was tense. The air smelled like cheap instant ramen and cold coffee — the kind of smell that comes when no one's slept right in days.
Bea stood by the door, her coat half-zipped and her breath still uneven from rushing over. Everyone else was scattered across the room — Kai was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, his phone plugged into the wall; Atlarus leaned on the window frame, eyes glued to the city lights outside; Kristine sat near the bed, hugging a pillow, her usual bright energy dimmed; Nate looked blank, like his brain had checked out hours ago. Mina sat beside Kristine, clutching Hydro's phone tightly like it was a lifeline.
The moment Bea walked in, everyone turned. No one said a word for a second — just the sound of the city outside filling the silence.
Bea finally exhaled. "Okay. Let's talk."
She dropped her bag on the table and looked at all of them. "I've been thinking about this the whole time. Hydro… he wouldn't just vanish like that without a reason. Something happened, and we're not seeing it."
Kristine frowned. "But how could he just disappear? There weren't even any reports, no messages, nothing. The cops didn't say anything."
Kai leaned back against the wall. "Yeah, like he just *blinked* out. One minute he's here, next minute he's gone. The dude's not even posting online — and that's saying something."
Bea sighed, rubbing her temples. "Guys… look, we don't know where Hydro is now. All we got is this phone." She pointed at Mina, who held it protectively. "We can't track it, it's been off the whole time. We can't trace anything. It's like… he left everything behind on purpose."
Atlarus finally spoke, voice low. "Maybe he's hiding."
Bea glanced over. "From what? The Yakuza? The monsters? Or us?"
Atlarus didn't answer. The silence that followed said enough.
They started pulling theories from the air — desperate, messy, but it gave them something to hold onto.
Kai started first. "Okay, what if he got caught up in some secret organization thing? Like, someone grabbed him right after the disaster."
Nate shook his head. "No. If that were true, we'd have heard about it. Hydro's the type to leave a note or clue behind. Something."
"Then maybe," Kristine added, "he's in hiding until it's safe again. You know how he is — trying to protect everyone by ghosting us."
"That's not protection," Bea muttered. "That's running."
Her voice cracked a little, but she covered it by pacing. "If he wanted to disappear, fine. But why leave his phone with Mina? That's not him being cautious — that's him saying goodbye."
Everyone froze for a beat. Mina looked down, holding the phone tighter. "He told me to keep it safe," she said quietly. "But he didn't say why. Just… 'keep it safe, and don't answer any calls.'"
Kristine's lip quivered. "That sounds like something you say before you leave for good."
Bea looked away, biting her lip. "Don't say that."
Kai jumped up suddenly, clapping his hands together like he couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Alright, okay, okay. Plan B, yeah? We got contacts, right? Maybe someone knows where he went. He's not the type to just vanish without talking to someone."
Atlarus nodded. "You mean Zander?"
Kai already had his phone out. "Exactly. I'll call him now."
The sound of the dial tone filled the air. Everyone leaned closer.
Finally, the screen lit up — Zander answered the video call.
Zander's face appeared, half-asleep, his room dim and messy. "Yo, Kai? Bro, it's like midnight here. What's up?"
Kai didn't waste time. "Zan, listen — Hydro. You seen him?"
Zander blinked, confused. "Hydro? Nah, man. He hasn't been around in like a week. He said something about traveling or some photography project. Why?"
Bea stepped into the frame. "You're sure he didn't come by your place? Maybe even just for a night?"
Zander scratched his head. "Nope. He didn't drop by. I even texted him about that collab stream we planned. Never got a reply."
Kai sighed heavily. "Alright. Thanks, man."
Zander frowned. "Wait… is something wrong?"
Kai hesitated. "We don't know yet."
Before Zander could ask more, Kai hung up. The silence after was suffocating.
But Kai wasn't done.
He started scrolling through his contacts like a man possessed. "Alright, next up — Electroman. He's close to Hydro too."
He hit call. The others watched in silence.
"Yo! Kai, what's good?" Electroman's voice boomed through the phone, cheerful as always. "You calling about the convention footage?"
Kai tried to smile, but his voice wavered. "Nah. You seen Hydro lately?"
Electroman tilted his head. "Hydro? Nah, last I heard he was at Nagashima, right? Dude's always busy. Why, something up?"
Kai rubbed his face. "Yeah… something like that. Nevermind. Thanks, man."
Next was Atlas.
"Atlas here," the calm voice said.
"Atlas, hey," Kai said quickly. "You seen Hydro? We can't reach him."
Atlas paused. "Hydro…? No. Not since the festival. He said he needed time alone. You guys fighting or something?"
Bea flinched at that. "You could say that," she muttered.
Atlas sighed. "I'll keep an eye out. If he messages me, I'll let you know."
Kai nodded. "Thanks, bro."
Hours passed like that. They called Hyper and his other friends — people who'd crossed paths with Hydro before, some close friends, others just colleagues.
Every call ended the same way.
"Haven't seen him."
"He's not here."
"Haven't heard anything."
"Sorry, wish I could help."
By the time Kai dropped his phone onto the table, everyone looked drained.
The silence was back, heavier than before.
Mina's eyes shimmered as she whispered, "Maybe… he really did leave."
Bea shook her head, standing up abruptly. "No. No, you guys don't get it. He wouldn't leave without— without saying anything. Not after what happened."
Terry looked at her with sad eyes. "Bea… people break sometimes."
Bea's jaw clenched. "Hydro doesn't break. He bends, sure — but he doesn't break."
Nate sighed, his voice quiet but cutting. "Then where is he, Bea?"
Bea froze. No one had an answer.
LATER
Outside, the city kept moving like nothing happened — cars honking, lights flashing, people laughing. But inside that hotel room, time felt like it stopped.
Atlarus walked to the window, staring out at the skyline. "You know what's weird? The world looks the same. Like… nothing happened. Like we didn't almost die."
Kristine hugged her knees tighter. "Maybe that's the worst part."
Bea sat down beside Mina, her voice barely above a whisper. "You guys remember that time Hydro dragged us to that stupid ramen shop that was open at 2 A.M.?"
Kai chuckled faintly. "Yeah. He said, 'if you don't eat ramen after midnight, you're doing life wrong.'"
Atlarus laughed softly. "And then he almost choked on the chili flakes."
The laughter faded quick, replaced by that aching quiet again.
Kristine finally spoke. "Do you think he's okay?"
Bea hesitated, eyes fixed on Hydro's phone lying on the table. Its black screen reflected the dim light of the room.
She wanted to say yes — to say something comforting. But all that came out was, "I don't know."
Hours passed.
The laughter was gone, replaced by soft murmurs and quiet sighs. They sat together, not to plan anymore, but just to be. Like if they stayed still long enough, maybe Hydro would just walk through that door and roll his eyes at how dramatic they were being.
But the door never opened.
Bea leaned back against the wall, exhaustion creeping in. "We'll find him," she said quietly. "We have to."
Kai nodded. "I hope he's still out there... and I still hope he has decency for us."
But no one really believed it. Not tonight.
Outside, snow began to fall. Tiny flakes drifted past the window, catching the glow of streetlights — soft, almost weightless.
Hydro was still out there somewhere.
But for now, all they had was a phone that wouldn't ring back.
LATER
The streets of Tokyo shimmered beneath the deep blue night — the neon reflections stretching across the slick asphalt like veins of electricity. Multiple black sedans moved through the traffic in a clean, almost military line. Their tinted windows reflected only the glimmer of city lights, no faces. Inside, silence reigned. The Konohagure Clan was on the move again.
The first car stopped at a quiet street, near a dimly lit traditional compound hidden between towers. The Omi Alliance's secondary headquarters. Kenta Moroboshi sat in the passenger seat, his face expressionless but his mind screaming. The loss of Daizo Konohagure still clung to him like oil on his hands — no matter how much he tried to wash it off, it stayed.
He stepped out of the car, fixing the black gloves on his hands. The night breeze bit his cheek, sharp and cold. Behind him, Daisuke and Hajime followed, each wearing their long dark coats, their eyes cautious. The heavy wooden door of the compound loomed ahead, decorated with old kanji scripts and a paper lantern that faintly swayed in the air.
Kenta raised his hand and knocked — three steady, deliberate knocks. The door creaked open, revealing a tall man in an immaculate gray suit. His hair was slicked back, and his aura screamed authority.
"Konohagure?" he said, voice low and wary.
"Yes," Kenta replied, bowing respectfully. "We came to talk business… and for help."
The man raised a brow, motioning for them to follow. "The Oyabun's expecting no visitors tonight. You better have something worth his time."
Kenta nodded. "We do."
Inside, the Omi Alliance compound was a strange blend of modern and traditional — tatami floors, holographic monitors, and men in tailored suits sitting beside katana racks. Cigarette smoke filled the air, blending with the faint smell of sake. The Oyabun sat in the middle of it all, cross-legged on a platform, wearing a crimson kimono. His left arm was cybernetic, glowing faintly under the candlelight.
"Kenta Moroboshi," the Oyabun said, his voice deep and raspy. "Last time I heard that name, Daizo was still running your show."
Kenta froze, then bowed deeply. "Daizo is gone, Oyabun-sama."
The Oyabun's eyes narrowed. "Gone?"
"...Killed," Kenta muttered. "And now, things are getting worse. There's something else coming. A man called the Arbiter appeared before us — claims he can help bring back order, but he's after something called the Paradoxal Shard. We don't even know what that is yet, but he wants cooperation. If it means saving what's left of our clan… we're in no place to refuse."
The Oyabun took a long drag from his pipe. The ember glowed bright. "You mean... you brought a System man into this world, Kenta? Dangerous thing to do. They aren't humans — they're... architects of chaos."
"I know that," Kenta said firmly. "But this chaos started the moment Hydro Undergrove crossed paths with us. Now everything's falling apart — reality, systems, clans. We can't stand still anymore."
The Oyabun smirked. "You're desperate."
Kenta's jaw tightened. "Maybe. But desperate people make moves, not mistakes."
The Oyabun chuckled, amused by his audacity. "Fine. What is it you want from the Omi Alliance?"
Kenta took a step forward. "Access to your dock. Your men. Your ferries. We're heading to the Tokyo Port tonight to prepare for something — something bigger than any of us can imagine. The Arbiter said we need to move before dawn. He didn't explain why, just that the 'System Core' might awaken."
The Oyabun leaned back, exhaling smoke slowly. "The System Core…" He turned to his right-hand man. "Heard of it?"
"Rumors only," the man said. "Supposed to be the heart of all reality bridges. The code that binds false worlds together."
The Oyabun grinned faintly. "You're chasing myths, Moroboshi. But myths make good leverage. Fine — the Omi Alliance will help you. But we want something in return."
"Anything," Kenta replied without hesitation.
"Control of the eastern docks. Once this is done."
Kenta's lips parted slightly. That was steep — too steep. But he knew saying no meant losing everything. He nodded. "...Deal."
The Oyabun smiled. "Then it's settled. Prepare your men."
The night carried a different kind of silence now. The kind that came before something massive.
Engines revved. The black Konohagure cars lined up again, this time joined by armored SUVs belonging to the Omi Alliance. Their headlights cut through the fog like blades. The Arbiter stood outside, his white cloak fluttering like static. His face was masked, metallic, voice digitized.
"You did well, Kenta," the Arbiter said, tone eerie yet oddly calm. "The path to the Paradoxal Shards begins tonight."
Kenta looked at him with suspicion. "Why us?"
"Because your bloodline was part of the first failed simulation," the Arbiter replied. "The shards are fragments of what's left — power meant to rewrite fate itself. You will need them to stabilize the world that's falling apart."
Daisuke crossed his arms. "And what happens if we fail?"
The Arbiter tilted his head. "You won't. Failure was written once — by Hydro Undergrove. It won't be repeated."
Kenta frowned. "You keep mentioning that name. What the hell does he have to do with the shards?"
The Arbiter turned, gazing toward the harbor. "Everything."
By the time they reached the docks, the fog had thickened. The sound of the waves hitting metal hulls echoed through the night like distant thunder. Cranes stood frozen over containers stacked like tombs. The Konohagure men moved with precision — unloading crates, securing rifles, checking radios. The Omi Alliance men blended in easily, exchanging nods but keeping quiet.
Kenta walked toward the ferry — a large black ship with its name scraped off. The hull was old, rusted, but reinforced with strange glowing seals — likely the Arbiter's doing.
Daisuke leaned on the railing. "You sure this is gonna work?"
Kenta sighed, staring out into the open water. "No. But we've come too far to back off now."
Hajime adjusted his gloves. "Feels like the calm before another war."
Kenta smirked faintly. "Then we better look good for it."
The Arbiter approached them again, his steps silent. "Departure in five minutes. Once we reach the coordinates, the first Paradoxal Shard should appear."
Kenta turned toward him. "And after that?"
"Then the rewriting begins," the Arbiter replied, his digital eyes flickering like a dying light.
The ferries began to move.
Engines roared, slicing through the silence. The city's skyline started to fade behind them, replaced by an endless black sea under a violet moon. The men stood on deck — Konohagure, Omi, and Arbiter — all bound by something they didn't fully understand.
The Arbiter stood at the bow, his cloak waving against the wind, eyes fixed on the horizon. The faint outline of a storm shimmered far ahead — streaks of light dancing within the clouds like data glitches.
"Welcome," he muttered to himself, voice distorted by the sea breeze, "to the beginning of correction."
Behind him, Kenta watched quietly. The ferry's hum mixed with the waves, creating an eerie symphony. He didn't know where they were heading, only that something massive waited ahead.
And deep down, even without knowing Hydro's true involvement, Kenta could feel it — every road they took, every deal they made, every lie they believed — it all led back to that same kid.
Hydro Undergrove.
Somewhere out there, lost between realities.
And the hunt…
was just beginning.
THE UNDERGROVE - LATER
The night inside the digital forest was eerily calm — soft particles of light floated in the air like glowing dust. The trees weren't real, but they moved like they were, their data-leaves fluttering in an invisible wind. Streams of flowing blue code ran across the ground like rivers, humming quietly underfoot.
Hydro lay asleep beneath one of those trees, jacket hanging on a low branch. His breathing was steady now, peaceful even. The burn-out, the exhaustion, the heartbreak — it had all dragged him into the kind of sleep only the broken could fall into. He looked younger like this, almost human again.
Soma stood a few feet away, the faint glow of holographic screens reflecting off his eyes. His expression was calm, but his movements were tense — the kind of silence that came before a storm. His hands moved fast across the floating interface, flipping through lines of digital text, scanning fragments of code that shifted and twisted with every pass.
["System Scan: Judgement System — Unstable Architecture Detected."]
He exhaled through his teeth. "It's here…"
The screen glitched, distorted static cutting across his field of view. He tapped through another command. Symbols flickered, rapidly switching between languages — binary, hexadecimal, ancient runic data. None of it made full sense, even to him.
["Malware signature confirmed."]
["Corruption Index: 98.3%."]
["Source: Unknown."]
"No clues…" Soma muttered, rubbing his temples.
He closed the first window and opened a new set of directories, searching deeper. Layers of code unfolded like blooming flowers — corrupted petals of what used to be a functioning system. He followed each trace carefully, one line at a time, until the signal broke again.
"Damn it," he hissed.
The forest's light dimmed slightly. Data particles froze midair, reacting to the instability of what he was touching. The Judgement System wasn't like Hydro's old one. It was colder. Crueler. Its energy didn't breathe — it infected.
He took a few steps back and typed another command.
["Manual Override: Active."]
["Command: Search for Architect signature."]
Lines of neon blue code stretched across the ground like vines. The forest itself started to flicker — every tree pulsing as if alive, feeding Soma's search. The interface began collecting symbols from the digital soil, the leaves, even the streams. It was like the entire simulation was listening.
After a few minutes, the stream of data stopped. Only one window remained open — a fragment of code, shaking and glitching like a broken heartbeat.
Soma leaned in, eyes widening. "There you are."
He reached forward and grabbed the code like a tangible object. The line of text twisted in his palm, floating and pulsating red — not like light, but like blood. He copied it instantly, sending it into his terminal.
"Time to dissect you…"
He opened the interface again, building a new section from scratch. His fingers flew over the holographic keyboard — every tap echoing like a drumbeat.
[```
class Element_Glitch:
def __init__(self):
self.type = "Glitch"
self.origin = "System Fusion"
self.properties = ["Adaptive", "Unstable", "Purifying"]
```]
The new code shimmered in the air, glowing white-blue. Soma hesitated for a moment, then typed one final command.
["Fuse: Judgment_System + Element_Glitch."]
The air cracked.
Everything around him started trembling — the trees pixelating, the rivers flashing violently. It felt like lightning shot through the digital ground. The Judgement System's dark, viral energy mixed with the newborn Glitch Element — chaotic at first, but gradually stabilizing. It began to swirl, forming a crystalline sphere that floated above Soma's hand.
The fusion worked. The darkness inside the code started dissolving, reshaping into something new. Something raw.
Soma's eyes widened, a grin creeping across his face. "It worked…!"
He watched as the sphere pulsed brighter, forming small waves that radiated outward, rewriting bits of the corrupted forest back to stability.
["Element Created: Glitch."]
["Status: Unstable but contained."]
["Potential User Compatibility: Hydro Undergrove — 99.8%."]
"Hydro…" he whispered softly, glancing toward the sleeping boy.
Hydro's hair was ruffled, a faint light flickering near his chest — his body reacting unconsciously to the creation. The Glitch Element responded to his energy instinctively, like it already recognized its owner. Soma smiled faintly.
"You've always drawn strange things toward you… Haven't you?"
He looked down at the code again. The "Glitch" wasn't just a power — it was something entirely different. It was balance between two extremes: chaos and control. The perfect middle point between creation and destruction.
Maybe, Soma thought, this was Hydro's real evolution.
Hours passed. Soma sat on a rock beside the flickering lake, typing more quietly now. He was tracing the origins of the Judgement System again, but this time with new tools. The data fragments reassembled into rough images — distorted holograms of people, places, and memories buried deep inside corrupted data.
Suddenly, the screen flashed.
["Signal Trace: Detected."]
["Location: Tokyo – Omi Alliance Sector."]
Soma froze. "Tokyo?"
He zoomed in, and the glitchy hologram stabilized — showing black cars lined in the streets, Konohagure symbols etched on their sides. The feed trembled, pixelated, then sharpened enough for Soma to recognize faces.
Kenta Moroboshi. Hajime Oro. Daisuke. And standing among them… someone else.
A tall figure wrapped in a white, distorted cloak — his face masked, his presence wrong.
Soma's heart dropped.
"The Arbiter."
He expanded the feed, rewinding slightly. The footage captured faint sound data — static-filled, but still audible.
"The path to the Paradoxal Shards begins tonight," the Arbiter's voice echoed.
"Because your bloodline was part of the first failed simulation."
Soma's fists tightened.
"So it's true… You're the one who made it."
He kept listening. The Arbiter's voice grew colder.
"Failure was written once — by Hydro Undergrove. It won't be repeated."
The sound cracked, distorting into static. Soma slammed the window shut, breathing hard. The air around him started shaking — digital trees flickering from his rising emotion.
"You think you can twist reality like it's code…" he muttered, glaring at the horizon. "But you forgot something — I wrote the foundation of this world first."
He turned to Hydro again, still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of what waited for him. Soma sighed and crouched beside him, adjusting the boy's jacket that had slipped off his shoulder.
"Not right now," he said softly. "Not the right time yet."
The Glitch Element hovered above them, pulsing faintly, syncing with Hydro's breathing. It was like the universe itself was waiting for him to open his eyes.
Soma opened one last window. The feed continued to show the Arbiter and the Konohagure Clan's movements — their ferries departing Tokyo Bay, the Omi Alliance men joining them, the storm rising above the horizon.
Soma zoomed in on the Arbiter's face. His mask flickered for a split second — revealing something mechanical, glowing, almost divine in its wrongness.
"You're not human…" Soma whispered. "You're code… wrapped in flesh."
The screen fizzled out. Static replaced everything.
Soma stood, dusting off his coat. His eyes glowed faintly with cyan light as the Glitch Element orbited around him like a living flame.
"The Judgement System… so this means he tried to overwrite mine," he said to no one. "Hmmm, but the difference between us, this... Arbiter…" He smirked slightly. "Is that I still believe in the user. There's another system out there corrupting someone else..."
He looked back one last time at Hydro — asleep, motionless, but radiating quiet power.
The boy who once destroyed the world.
The same boy who could fix it again.
"Don't worry, Hydro," Soma whispered. "We gotta find more information about this guy."
The camera zooms out — the digital forest glowing softly, the code streams flowing like rivers of light, and the Glitch Element illuminating the sky like a new dawn.
Far beyond the horizon, unseen, the Arbiter's network flickered — as if aware someone was watching.
The meeting room was eerily quiet — a strange kind of silence that didn't belong in a place usually filled with chatter, laughter, and the sound of cameras clicking. The banners of Otakufest 2035 hung limply across the walls, some half-torn from the chaos a few days ago. Empty chairs were scattered around, plastic cups and coffee bottles still sitting untouched on the table.
Aimi stood near the center of the room, holding a clipboard close to her chest. Her eyes were tired, her hair tied up loosely, and there were faint marks under her eyes from nights without sleep. Around her were the rest of the staff — lighting crew, stage directors, costume checkers, even some vendors who managed to make it out during the disaster. Everyone looked beat.
The air felt heavy.
"…So, uh… what's going to happen now?" someone finally said from the back, voice shaking a little.
Aimi inhaled quietly before answering, "…We're postponing Otakufest."
The whole room broke into murmurs immediately.
"What? For how long?"
"Is it canceled or—"
"Wait, is this because of that attack the other day?"
"They said the cops didn't even finish investigating the site yet—"
"Quiet, quiet, please." Aimi raised her voice a little but not enough to yell. The noise softened down, though the confusion still lingered on everyone's faces.
She put her clipboard down and looked around the room. "Listen, I know everyone's been working non-stop to make this event run. I know how much time you all gave up, how much effort we put in. But after what happened at Nagashima Spa Land…" Her voice faltered, and she stopped for a moment. "There's no way we can continue this next week."
Another staff member — a sound tech with purple-dyed hair — crossed her arms. "But Aimi, the main stage was barely touched. Can't we just move it somewhere else? Maybe Osaka or Tokyo Dome—"
Aimi shook her head, voice calm but firm. "No. We can't risk another incident like that. The event site was completely wrecked. Security's gone haywire. Half of the guest lineup backed out for safety reasons, and even the sponsors are pausing contracts until they're sure we can guarantee everyone's safety."
Someone muttered, "Damn, this sucks…"
Another added, "We worked weeks for this."
Aimi nodded slowly. "Yeah. It sucks for all of us." She leaned on the table slightly. "That's why this isn't a cancellation. It's a postponement. Just one week — maybe more, depending on what the police and the city council decide. But…" she looked down at her notes, hesitating. "There's… something else."
Everyone turned quiet again. The only sound was the low buzz of the air conditioning.
"…It's about Hydro."
That name alone froze the room. You could almost feel the shift in energy — like someone had dropped a weight straight through the floor.
One of the crew members whispered, "Hydro… that cameraman kid, right?"
"Yeah," another replied softly. "The quiet one who helped set up the lighting rigs. The guy with the duffel bag."
Aimi nodded once. "Hydro Undergrove." She took a deep breath and continued, her tone steady but her expression cracked just slightly. "He… he's missing."
The silence that followed was gut-punching.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. Everyone just looked at her, trying to process what she'd just said.
"…What do you mean missing?" one of the video operators asked. "Like, missing as in he quit the job, or—"
"No," Aimi interrupted softly. "As in vanished. Completely. No one's seen him since the night of the incident."
The murmurs started again, louder now.
"But wasn't he with the Ohara Community group?"
"Didn't someone say he helped people out during the chaos?"
"Couldn't he just be in the hospital?"
"Maybe his phone's dead—"
Aimi raised her hand to calm them down. "We already checked all of that."
She pulled out a stack of printed reports and placed them on the table. "We contacted every hospital within a fifty-kilometer radius. No record under his name. No emergency reports, no ambulance logs. His ID hasn't been used. Even his staff access card hasn't pinged since that night."
Someone whispered, "That's not possible…"
"I wish it wasn't," Aimi muttered. "But it is."
A tech assistant from the back — the youngest one, maybe nineteen — leaned forward nervously. "Could… could the Yakuza have taken him?"
The question sent a chill through everyone.
Aimi exhaled through her nose, gripping her clipboard tighter. "We can't assume that. There's no proof. And I'm not going to spread rumors like that without evidence."
Still, everyone could feel it. The fear creeping under their skin.
Because deep down, no one had any answers.
They'd all seen the explosion near the park. The chaos. The strange pulse of light that tore through the air like a system crash in reality. They all knew something unnatural happened — but not one person could explain what.
And now one of their own was gone.
As the meeting dragged on, Aimi could feel the atmosphere dropping lower. Some people quietly cried in the back. Some stared blankly at the floor, still in disbelief. Others kept whispering to each other, trying to rationalize it — like their minds refused to accept that someone like Hydro, who smiled, cracked lame jokes, carried heavy equipment for others without complaint — could just disappear.
Aimi rubbed her eyes, whispering under her breath, "God… Hydro, where did you go?"
Then she stood up straight again. She had to pull herself together — for everyone's sake.
"Alright," she said finally, voice stronger now. "Listen up, everyone."
The murmurs stopped.
"I know this isn't the news any of us wanted to hear. But until we get updates from the authorities, Otakufest is officially postponed. You'll all get emails about compensation and rescheduling plans within the next forty-eight hours."
People nodded weakly, some sighing.
"And about Hydro…" she paused. "I already sent a report to the missing persons unit in Tokyo. They're aware. I gave them his staff ID, his last recorded footage, and his access key data. They'll be checking every security camera in the area."
Someone asked, "Do you think he's still out there?"
Aimi looked down for a moment. Her throat tightened before she answered, but she forced a small smile. "I have to believe he is."
After the meeting ended, the staff started cleaning up quietly. The sound of papers rustling and chairs scraping filled the room, mixed with soft sniffles here and there. Some stayed behind to talk — small conversations about Hydro, about what he was like, the stuff he did behind the scenes.
"He once fixed the projector when it almost burned out," one guy said.
"He lent me his jacket that time the AC broke in the studio," another added.
"He… he used to talk about photography like it was his whole life."
Aimi stayed by the window, watching the city lights outside. Tokyo looked alive as always — cars, neon signs, endless movement — but it felt emptier tonight. Like something small but important had quietly vanished from the world.
She turned back to the room, raising her voice one last time.
"Hey everyone," she said. "Before you all go home…"
They looked at her.
"…Hydro might not be here right now, but he was one of us. So let's not treat him like he's gone forever, alright?"
No one spoke, but the silence this time wasn't cold. It was heavy — but united. Like they were all silently agreeing.
Aimi smiled sadly. "We'll wait for him. And when he comes back, we'll make sure Otakufest is ready for him again. Promise."
She looked down at the clipboard one more time, seeing Hydro's name scribbled in one of the team lists:
"Staff ID: 0491 — Hydro Undergrove — Camera Ops / Logistics Assistant."
Her thumb brushed over the name. "Wherever you are, Hydro…" she whispered quietly, almost like a prayer. "Please be safe. You don't deserve to vanish like this."
Outside, the rain started to fall — soft, quiet, and almost cinematic. The neon lights from the streets below reflected off the droplets on the glass, turning the world into streaks of blue and red.
And somewhere far beyond that city — in a world built from pure data and light — Hydro stirred in his sleep, unaware of the people back home still waiting for him.