Seventh Floor — The Specialist's Chamber
The seventh door had a presence to it, an old thing pretending to be new. It was carved with tiny sigils that seemed to rearrange themselves when you looked away, like a script trying to remember its lines. When the group stepped through, the air shifted: not colder or hotter, but ordered — as if someone had straightened all the corners of the world.
At the center of the hall sat the Operator.
He folded and unfolded a thin hand like someone testing the patience of fate. His hair was silvered and cropped close. His robe was an odd weave of blank paper and polished bone; he looked, if anything, like a librarian who'd taken up necromancy as a side hobby. His eyes were calm and bright, as if he had already read every possible response the world could give.
"Welcome," he said in a voice like a coin dropped into a well. "I am called Sihn — the Pactwright."
No smile. No flourish. Just a title that felt like a clause.
Ethan's Panel flared an alert: Specialist — Contract & Rule System detected. A crisp schematic unfurled for his eyes alone: invisible threads linking the Operator to the floor, tiny contract nodes, binding signatures, a ledger that recorded consequence.
Sihn bowed the slightest fraction. "You have done well to get this far. This floor is not about force. It is about agreements. The Tower is a machine of tests; I simply bind its terms. You must accept rules to proceed — or refuse and be returned."
Gon's face lit with a naive grin. "So it's like… a game!"
Kurapika's eyes narrowed. "Not a game, a test."
Leorio muttered, "I hope the rules are written in plain English."
Killua folded his arms, restless. "This guy looks like he enjoys paperwork."
Sihn did not laugh. He tapped the floor once. Lines of light crawled out like ink and formed three translucent tablets standing between them and the far door. Each tablet had writing on it, but the characters shifted slowly into forms they could understand.
> Tablet One — Clause Negotiation
"Draft and accept binding clauses that will allow passage. Each clause has a cost, a risk, and a temporal limit. Failure to satisfy a clause triggers a penalty for the entire group."
> Tablet Two — Binding Gauntlet
"Pass through three spaces bound by a drafted clause. Clauses must be matched to space properties in real time."
> Tablet Three — Sacrificial Clause
"One clause requires the sacrifice of an optional asset (time, strength, or a non-essential trait). Correct choice grants a bonus; error costs team progress."
Sihn folded his hands. "You have forty-five minutes to draft clauses, negotiate, and pass the Gauntlet. All signatures are final. The Tower enforces what you write."
Ethan swallowed. This was specialist-level danger — binding rules that, once accepted, became reality. The Panel whispered policies: minimal intervention, preserve canon, do not enable outcome-changing miracles. It also offered something useful: a preflight parser that could parse contract metadata for hidden traps. Cost: small, private PP fee.
He kept that in mind and let Gon speak first. "We can do that, right? We'll just—make rules that help us."
Killua rolled his eyes. "It isn't that simple. Clauses can be twisted."
Kurapika crouched to study the first tablet. "They'll phrase benefits with conditions. We need to parse the language — precisely."
Leorio blinked. "Who's the legal counsel? Ethan?"
The group laughed—then checked themselves. They were in a room where laughter might be a clause-breaker.
---
Panel Mission — Contract Parser (Private)
Action: Scan tablet metadata and flag ambiguous phrasing.
Cost: 10 PP
Result: Highlights up to five ambiguous clauses and suggests safe rewordings.
Recommendation: Use once, privately.
Ethan activated it. The Panel sifted the shimmering ink, revealing micro-annotations in the tablet's language — tiny traps like "unless the sun sets," or "if any heart beats thrice faster," clauses that embedded temporal or emotional triggers. The parser flagged three problematic phrases and suggested clearer, safer phrasings that would be semantically stricter but functionally generous.
He didn't blurt the corrections out. That would be suspicious. Instead he spoke to the group like a safe hand holding a candle in a windy cave.
"Listen," he said. "Treat the clauses like doors. Wording decides how the door opens. If something says 'lasts until dusk,' we'll be trapped when it's dusk. Choose absolute times or condition on actions you control, not on weather or emotion."
Kurapika's expression went from wary to approving. "Good. Focus on operable constraints."
Gon bounced in place. "So—set it to, like, 'lasts five minutes after activation'?"
"Yes," Ethan nodded. "Measurable. Not vague."
Killua smirked. "Let me pick a clause: anything that says 'do your best' is forbidden."
Leorio, visibly relieved to have a job, said, "Okay, I'll watch for weird words."
They split tasks. Gon proposed a clause they'd love: Gravity halved in the first Gauntlet space for 30 seconds. Kurapika countered with a safer reword: In the first space, the effective downward force on bodies entering will be reduced by 50% for a continuous 30-second window beginning at activation. It read nerdy but enforceable. Ethan's parser gave a quiet checkmark.
Clause after clause formed: movement modifiers, timing windows, constraint triggers. All three tablets required a signatory gesture: a fingertip to the crystal text that registered intent as a seal. Each signature was binding.
Sihn watched, serene. "Your contracts will bind the Tower. Be mindful: the Sacrificial Clause asks for a ledger entry you must have to spend."
"Ledger?" Leorio asked.
Sihn tapped the air. A little ledger floated up: it recorded assets — small, defined tokens: Time Shard (five minutes of absolute time), Strength Capsule (temporary +10 strength), Trait Token (sacrifice a minor trait for amplified team benefit). The ledger showed Ethan had a modest stock: a Time Shard from earlier timing micro-missions, two small stat capsule effects, and a Trait Token labeled Minor Aura Concealment.
He didn't need to spend, but Sacrificial Clause might reward them with a huge advantage if they chose correctly. The Panel whispered: Sacrifice safe option if it doesn't alter canon-critical traits.
They debated. Gon wanted to spend a Time Shard for a clean window. Kurapika argued that time is precious and could be used later. Killua was practical: "If it makes the Gauntlet manageable, do it." Leorio, voice wobbling, said, "If sacrificing something means we have to crawl out of the tower sooner, I'll do it. Just tell me what to do."
Ethan thought of the Panel's constraints. He also thought of the team. He made the call that would let the story proceed without rupturing canon beats.
"We'll use one Time Shard," he said. "Thirty seconds of absolute activation during the Sacrificial Clause. It preserves our options later, and time is easiest to define and control." He made sure his voice steady, even. "We don't kill anything permanently; we just buy clear seconds."
Kurapika nodded once. Gon cheered. Killua flicked a small smile. Leorio gasped but agreed.
They signed the clauses. The light ink ate their fingertips and recorded their intent. The ledger consumed the Time Shard in a little puff of silver dust.
Sihn's face remained unreadable. "You have one precondition active: your clauses will be enforced. The first Gauntlet will begin now."