The whole class turns at once.
Ghosts.
Witches.
A few elegant spirits.
One tiny goblin thing in a tie.
All staring.
At me.
The woman at the front of the room straightens to her full, terrifyingly upright height.
Tall.
Severe.
Hair in a tight bun.
Glasses on a chain.
Dress so crisp it could commit violence.
Miss Arabelle Crom.
She points the chalk—bone-colored, of course—directly at me like it's a weapon.
"You do not simply slither in like an untrained specter," she snaps. "You enter. Again."
My brain stalls.
"Again…?" I echo.
"Yes, again," she says, as if I've personally offended five generations of etiquette ghosts. "Step out. Compose yourself. Return properly."
Behind me, in the hallway, I can feel Mira silently judging my entire bloodline.
The system pings.
⸻
[New Threat Detected: SPIRIT ETIQUETTE INSTRUCTOR — A. CROM]
[Combat Type: Psychological]
[Recommended Action: OBEY.]
⸻
"Right," I mutter.
I back out, close the door.
Stand in the hall.
Stare at the wood.
Mira raises one eyebrow.
"…Master of etiquette," she says.
"In my defense," I whisper, "I didn't expect a boss battle at the door."
I inhale.
Square my shoulders.
Try to remember every anime where someone walks into a room like a functioning human.
Hand on the handle.
I push the door open slowly this time, step in, stop just inside the threshold.
I bow.
A little too low.
A little too stiff.
"Luka Vale," I say, voice a bit higher than normal. "Reporting for… Spirit Etiquette & (inaudible mumble), ma'am."
Silence.I forgot what it was halfway there. I could only use my low voice to mask it.
Miss Crom narrows her eyes.
Then gives a single sharp nod.
"Acceptable," she says. "Barely. Close the door. Do not slouch. Do not shuffle. And for the love of structural protocol, do not sit without being told where."
I close the door very carefully.
The system hums.
⸻
[Mini-Quest Complete: ENTER WITHOUT FULL HUMILIATION]
Reward: +Tiny Amount Of Dignity
Status: Still Prey
⸻
I take two steps forward, unsure what to do with my hands.
"Class," Miss Crom says, voice cutting cleanly through the room, "this is Luka Vale. Our… live anomaly. He will be of particular use for demonstration purposes."
Oh good.
I love being listed as "useful for demonstrations."
A few students straighten with interest.
My eyes catch on one girl near the front.
Bright blonde hair tied in a high, slightly lopsided ponytail.
Big, warm eyes.
Uniform worn correctly but with too many charms pinned to it—little suns, stars, a crooked cat.
Arin Solaria.
She recognizes me first.
Her hand shoots up.
"Oh! That's him!" she says. "The human! The one who almost got devoured and didn't die!"
The entire class looks more interested.
My soul tries to leave.
Miss Crom pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Miss Solaria," she sighs, "this is not a celebrity sighting. It is an etiquette lesson."
Arin grins unapologetically.
"Right. Yes. Very educational. I'm ready to learn how not to accidentally explode people with greetings."
That's… not comforting.
"Vale," Miss Crom says sharply. "Stand there."
She points to a circle drawn on the floor in faint silver chalk.
Of course there's a circle.
I step into it.
It hums.
Lightly.
Like it's measuring me.
Miss Crom turns to the board.
"With the mixing of realms," she says, "greetings are no longer simple. Mortal customs differ from spirit customs differ from echo conventions. A wrong bow, a poorly timed touch, or an insultingly informal tone may result in curses, duels, or tears."
She writes three words on the board:
DISTANCE.
INTENT.
RESPECT.
Then turns back to me.
"In this class," she continues, "you will learn to approach others without starting wars."
Her eyes land on me.
"In theory."
I raise my hand weakly.
"In practice," I say, "I seem to start wars by breathing."
A few students snort.
Miss Crom ignores them.
"Precisely why you are ideal for this," she says. "We begin with baseline error correction."
The system flickers, offended on my behalf.
⸻
[Translation: You Are So Bad At This You Make A Perfect Example.]
[Encouragement: At Least You're Special.]
⸻
"Thank you, system," I think. "Deeply uplifting."
Miss Crom claps her hands once.
"Partners," she orders. "Now."
Desks shift.
Chairs scrape.
Ghosts slide.
Spirits shuffle.
Arin pops out of her seat like a firework.
"Me!" she says immediately, pointing at herself, then at me. "I'll take the human!"
Miss Crom grimaces.
"…Miss Solaria," she says, "we are assessing Mr. Vale's ability to navigate standard greetings. Your presence statistically increases chaos."
Arin gasps. "That's profiling!"
"It is data," Miss Crom says.
Their back-and-forth continues, but Arin is already weaving her way toward me, squeezing between a translucent boy and a girl whose hair is semi-on fire.
She stops just outside my circle.
Beaming.
"Hi again," she whispers. "Sitting upright, existing, not currently being mauled—good, solid improvement."
"Working really hard at that," I murmur.
Miss Crom gives up with a sigh.
"Fine. Miss Solaria, since you refuse to be deterred, you will serve as our first subject."
"Oh!" Arin says, delighted. "Demonstration time."
I am much less delighted.
Miss Crom gestures between us.
"Scenario," she says. "Mortal student must greet high-mana witch of equal academic rank without offending her, activating her wards, or initiating accidental engagement of any kind."
Arin leans in and stage-whispers, "She means 'don't make me think you're proposing.' That happened once."
Good to know.
Miss Crom folds her arms.
"Mr. Vale," she says crisply, "approach Miss Solaria and greet her."
A dozen pairs of eyes lock on us.
No pressure.
The system chimes in:
⸻
[Micro-Quest: GREET THE WITCH WITHOUT RUINING EVERYTHING]
Constraints:
• No touching without signal
• Appropriate distance
• No weird smiling
Suggested Actions: Bow + Verbal Acknowledgment
Risk: 78% Chance Of Social Misfire
⸻
"…Seventy-eight?" I think. "Why is it higher than passing grade??"
Arin looks at me expectantly.
Miss Crom waits.
The class is quiet.
How does a Luka Vale greet a lady of this caliber beauty?
Simple.
Cool and Suave 101.
I shift my weight slightly to the side and look up at her with a gleaming smile.
A light "hah" escapes my lips.
Pheromones are around me again, I think.
"Hello, Miss Witch," I say. "You look dazzling today."
Silence.
Actual, tangible silence.
Arin blinks.
Once.
Twice.
Her cheeks go pink so fast it's almost a spell.
"Oh," she says.
Just that.
The circle at my feet hums.
Then flares.
⸻
[ALERT: INTENT SPIKE DETECTED]
[Registered Signal: FLIRTATION / COURTSHIP OPENING]
[Note: This Is A Greeting Class, Not A Dating Sim.]
⸻
Of course.
Of course the circle is snitching.
Miss Crom inhales sharply through her nose.
The class stirs.
A ghost in the second row leans forward, fascinated.
A beast spirit whistles low.
Someone mutters, "He just said that out loud?"
Arin opens her mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Her mana wobbles—literally. Little sparks flicker off her fingers.
"O-oh, um," she manages. "T-thank you? You're… very… alive."
Not the worst compliment I've gotten today, honestly.
Miss Crom explodes.
"ABSOLUTELY NOT."
Everyone jumps.
Arin nearly drops her wand.
"Mr. Vale," Miss Crom says, voice razor-sharp, "what, precisely, was that."
"A… greeting?" I offer.
"A disaster," she snaps. "You entered directly into flirtation register without prior neutral exchange. You addressed her by category, not name. You commented on appearance in an academic setting. You used no honorifics. Every realm type could read that as a soft proposal."
The entire class makes various ohhhh noises.
Arin makes a tiny squeak and covers her mouth with both hands.
The system hums like it's judging me.
⸻
[Assessment: 10/10 Human Boldness]
[Etiquette Score: 2/100]
[Note: Target Response: FLUSTERED, NOT OFFENDED. Partial Success?]
⸻
"See?" I say weakly. "She's not mad."
"I am not calibrating for Miss Solaria's chaos tolerance," Miss Crom says. "I am calibrating for baseline survival."
She strides closer, heels clicking like execution bells.
"Again," she orders. "This time, without… pheromones."
I feel personally attacked.
Arin lowers her hands slowly, eyes still wide.
"I didn't hate it," she mutters under her breath.
That does not help.
Miss Crom glares at the circle.
"Reset," she commands.
The silver fades, then steadies.
She points the chalk at me like a gun.
"Rule one," she says. "Name. Rule two: distance. Rule three: intent first, flattery last. You are not trying to ignite her aura, you are trying to exist without starting rumors."
"Too late," someone whispers.
Laughter ripples through the room.
I exhale, force my shoulders to relax.
Okay.
Suave can sit in the corner for a moment.
"Alright," I say quietly. "Human greeting, patched version."
I incline my head—not too deep, not too stiff.
"Good afternoon, Arin Solaria," I say. "It's… nice to meet you properly."
She smiles.
Real this time.
Still a little pink, but composed.
"Nice to meet you too, Luka Vale," she replies.
The circle hums, then flashes soft green.
⸻
[Etiquette Check: PASS]
[Registered: Neutral, Respectful, Non-Proposal Greeting]
[Bonus: Mild Positive Emotional Resonance]
⸻
Miss Crom relaxes by half a centimeter.
"Better," she says. "Barely acceptable. Note, class: mortals default to casual. That must be… aggressively corrected."
She walks back to the front, chalk already scratching new nightmare diagrams of "greeting zones" on the board.
Arin edges closer to me, just enough that it doesn't break any of the distance rules Miss Crom is ranting about.
She whispers without moving her lips much:
"For the record," she says, "I liked the first one more."
My brain crashes.
The system goes absolutely feral.
⸻
[Romance Flag: ARIN SOLARIA — SPARK +1]
[Tag Applied: Likes Bold Compliments]
[Warning: Do Not Let Miss Crom Hear This.]
⸻
I stare straight ahead.
I will not combust in Spirit Etiquette class.
Probably.
Miss Crom continues lecturing about bow depth, tail angle (for beast spirits), wing twitch protocol (for some upperclass harpies), and exactly how many seconds you can maintain eye contact with an Echo entity before it counts as a challenge.
So," Arin murmurs, still watching the board, "we're partners now, right?"
"For practice," she adds, a beat too late to be casual.
"Looks like it," I whisper back.
"Good," she says. "I'm bad at this. If I accidentally marry you in class, tell me."
"That's not reassuring."
She grins.
"It'll be fun."
Fun is a strong word.
Seriously, though. What's with her and marrying someone?
The rest of the period blurs into drills.
Greet a ghost.
Greet a witch.
Greet a small, smug fire spirit.
Each time, the circle reads my intent like a tattletale lie detector.
Sometimes I pass.
Sometimes I don't.
Sometimes Miss Crom sighs so hard I worry she'll exorcise me out of sheer disappointment.
By the time the bell rune buzzes and class ends, my social anxiety has been skinned and rearranged.
"Homework," Miss Crom announces. "Practice three proper greetings with three different realm types without causing emotional instability, rumors, or magical backlash."
Her eyes land on me.
"Mr. Vale," she adds, "for you, five."
"Of course," I mutter.
Students start filing out.
Arin bounces up, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"I'll help you!" she says. "We can practice. You can, uh… compliment me second next time."
She's saying it casually.
Her mana says otherwise.
Before I can answer, Mira appears in the doorway like a cold omen.
Again.
"Luka," she calls. "Next class."
Right.
My schedule of suffering continues.
Arin glances between us.
"Oh," she says. "Reaper escort."
"Parole officer," I correct.
Mira's eye twitches.
"I'll grab you later," Arin says, already backing toward the door. "For practice! Maybe in the Spellcraft Hall! Definitely not for explosions."
That is exactly for explosions.
She waves and slips out.
The room empties.
It's just me, Miss Crom shuffling papers, and Mira in the doorway, quietly radiating disapproval at the world.
The system hums.
⸻
[Class Complete: SPIRIT ETIQUETTE & INTERREALM CONDUCT]
Rewards:
• Basic Greeting Competence (Barely)
• Arin Bond +
• Teacher Disappointment (Stacking)
New Optional Quest:
[Practice Greetings With:
• Aeria (Echo)
• Fenn (Spirit)
• Arin (Witch)
• Mira (Reaper — High Difficulty)]
⸻
Mira gestures with her chin.
"Come," she says. "You're late."
I take one last look at the humiliating circle on the floor.
I survived it.
Somehow.
I step up to Mira.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Not too casual.
I bow my head slightly, put a hand over my heart.
"Hello, Mira."
Silence.
The hallway suddenly feels very invested in my survival.
Mira blinks once.
Her gaze drops to my hand.
Then to the exact distance between us.
Then back to my face.
I swear I see her mentally pulling out a rubric.
The system immediately butts in:
⸻
[ETIQUETTE CHECK: REAPER-TYPE GREETING]
Posture: Acceptable
Distance: Correct (Barely)
Tone: Respectful
Intent: Non-suicidal
Result: PASS
⸻
Mira's aura shifts.
Barely.
Like a blade going from "drawn" to "sheathed but still nearby."
"…You attended Etiquette," she says.
It's not a question.
"I am," I say, "a certified master of basic greeting now."
Her eye twitches.
"Do not exaggerate."
"I passed," I insist. "The floor said so."
"The floor," she repeats, flat, "is a diagnostic circle, not an authority."
"Still counts."
Her gaze lingers on my bowed head for a second longer than necessary.
Then:
"…Hello, Luka," she says quietly.
My brain stutters.
Mira.
Saying hello back.
Voluntarily.
Like an actual person.
The system pings, almost smug:
⸻
[Relational Shift Detected: MIRA THANATIEL → HOST]
Tag: Acknowledged As Person (Minor)
[Note: Progress Achieved Without Clinging. Impressive.]
⸻
I straighten, trying not to look too pleased.
"Next class?" I ask.
"Reaper Ethics," she answers. "Observation only. You will sit at the back. You will not participate. You will not attract attention."
"Those are three separate skill trees," I say.
She sighs. "Just follow me."
She turns, cloak whispering over the floor.
I fall into step beside—but half a pace behind—her. Close enough to be supervised. Far enough to not get auto-scythed.
For a few breaths, we walk in silence.
Mira's eyes stay forward.
"Do not fall behind," she says.
Too late to pretend this is normal.
I have to pick what I do now on the way to a class literally about death ethics.
We're close to the Reaper classroom when temptation wins.
"Hey…" I whisper under my breath, "status window."
The system flickers into place at the edge of my vision.
⸻
[STATUS — LUKA VALE]
Classification: Living Human (INVALID)
Haunt Rank: 0 (Academically Doomed)
Realm Affinity: ERROR (Please Stop Asking)
Condition:
• Alive (Inconvenient)
• Emotionally Tired
• Residual Wolf Fur / Echo Dust / Slime Memory
Skills:
• Human Instinct Tree — Proto
• Haunting / Spirit Interaction — Glitched
• Hybrid Resonance — LOCKED
• Venerable Protocols — DO NOT TOUCH
Haunt Points: [REDACTED]
[Note: You'll only spend them badly.]
⸻
"Rude," I think.
I'm scrolling mentally, trying to see if Calming Presence got any stronger, when my shoe catches on absolutely nothing.
The floor tilts.
Gravity yeets me forward.
"—oh no."
I slam into Mira from behind.
Full body.
No prep.
My arms go around her on reflex like she's a very cold, very dangerous crash pillow.
We stagger one step.
One.
And stop—
a hair's breadth from the Reaper Ethics classroom door.
For a solid second:
Silence.
Mira is solid under my hands.
Cold aura biting through my uniform.
Scythe-calloused strength in the way she braces both of us without falling.
My brain?
Gone.
Evaporated.
The system shrieks.
⸻
[ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH REAPER]
[Risk Of Soul Damage: EXTREME]
[Social Risk: WORSE]
⸻
I very slowly realize where my face is.
Pressed against her shoulder.
Close enough to smell frost and ink.
…Oh no.
From inside the partially open classroom, a voice goes flat with disgusted disbelief:
"…What."
I look up.
Reapers.
Rows of black uniforms.
Silver sigils.
Emotionless faces.
Except one.
One near the front, leaning back in his chair, dark hair, sharp features, aura like a storm front trying to be polite.
The system hinted:
⸻
[Warning: Hostility Detected.]
[Secondary Flag: Possible Jealousy?]
[Subject: CORVUS NIGHTFALL]
⸻
His jaw is clenched so tight I can hear it.
He is grimacing at the sight of me hugging Mira like someone just keyed his prized scythe.
The air drops a few more degrees.
Mira hasn't killed me yet.
Good sign.
Probably.
Her voice comes out very quiet.
"Luka."
"Yes," I croak into her shoulder.
"Release me."
"Ah," I say. "Right. Yes. That would be gentlemanly."
My body does not move.
It has decided to cling as a survival mechanism.
Her fingers tighten on my wrist.
Cold flickers up my arm.
Not full reaping.
Just a reminder that she very much could.
I peel myself off her like a sticker being removed from a death certificate.
We separate.
I step back.
Two steps.
Three.
My face is burning.
My soul is trying to move out.
Mira turns her head slightly toward me, expression composed but her ears suspiciously pink.
"Status window," she says flatly, "does not require walking."
"That's a good note," I wheeze.
The system, because it wants me dead socially, chimes again:
⸻
[Mini-Quest Complete: HUG A REAPER IN PUBLIC (ACCIDENTAL, AGAIN)]
Reward: Mira's Stress + Corvus' Aggro
[Title Unlocked: Reaper Magnet (Temporary)]
⸻
Fantastic.
Inside the classroom, Corvus slowly stands.
His chair scrapes back with the exact energy of: I am going to make this your problem later.
His gaze flicks from Mira—
to me—
to the distance between us.
His aura spikes, sharp and dark, but he doesn't say a word.
Not yet.
Mira squares her shoulders, reaper mask fully back on.
She looks at the other reapers.
"Continue," she says coldly. "This does not concern you."
Every single one of them silently disagrees.
But they sit.
Corvus sits last.
Still staring.
Mira turns to me.
"Observation only," she reminds me. "Back row. No talking. No summoning. No touching."
"That last one feels targeted," I whisper.
"It is."
Fair.
We're standing in the doorway now.
I walk in toward the back where there was no one seated, completely ignoring all the stares.
What do you want me to do, announce that I hugged her and be proud with it?
Well... she is pretty. But that's beside the point. If I want to survive, I have to sit still. And... observe...
I drop into the last-row corner seat like I'm trying to merge with the wall.
Cold air.
Sharp aura.
The faint metallic taste of death in the room.
Yeah. Reaper class.
Up front, the instructor finishes writing something on the slate.
White hair.
Stronger aura than Mira.
Eyes like someone who's watched civilizations die and was mildly disappointed by the ending.
⸻
[Warning: REAPER CLASS — HIGH, DANGEROUS]
[ID: THANIEL THANATIEL — REAPER INSTRUCTOR, MIRA'S OLDER BROTHER]
[Recommendation: Do Not Make A Joke.]
⸻
Great. Family.
He turns, eyes sweeping the room.
They skip over most people.
They do not skip over me.
His gaze pauses for half a second on my existence, like he's mentally filing me under "unsorted problem."
Then he speaks.
"Today," he says, voice flat, "Reaper Ethics: Living Anomalies."
Of course.
Of course.
The whole class just casually turns their heads to look at me.
Slowly.
In sync.
I stare straight ahead.
Stone wall. Very beautiful. No humans here. Just wall.
Thaniel continues, tone calm.
"Rule one. You do not touch the living without necessity."
Corvus doesn't even try to hide his glance at me, then at Mira.
My soul leaves my body again.
"Rule two," Thaniel says, "you do not bond with the living."
This time the glance goes only to Mira.
Her jaw tightens.
The system chooses violence.
⸻
[Topic Of Class: YOU.]
[Sub-Topic: Why You Are A Walking HR Violation.]
[Recommendation: Remain Quiet, Breathing Optional.]
⸻
I sink lower in my seat.
Thaniel starts pacing slowly in front of the board.
"The living are fragile," he says. "They are loud. They distort balance. They cause attachment. Reapers who become emotionally entangled with them—"
His gaze moves to the side where Mira stands.
"—make mistakes."
Corvus' aura hums in agreement.
Some reapers nod.
I actively consider becoming a decorative coat rack instead of a person.
Thaniel lifts a piece of chalk. Draws two circles on the board.
"Dead," he labels one.
"Living," he labels the other.
A thin line between.
"The boundary," he says. "Our job is to manage this threshold. Not erase it. Not blur it. Not drag anomalies across it because it is interesting."
The word interesting lands heavier than it should.
I feel Mira's aura tighten behind me like a pulled wire.
The urge to raise my hand and say "for the record, I didn't ask to be here" is so strong I physically grip the desk to stop myself.
The system buzzes.
⸻
[WARNING: Impulse To Speak Detected.]
[Blocking Feature: "SHUT UP" ACTIVATED.]
⸻
"Thank you," I think weakly.
Thaniel keeps going.
"You will encounter," he says, "living anomalies. Mortal-bound witches, realm-crossed heroes, contracted vessels. You will observe the rules. You will not improvise."
His eyes sweep across the room again.
"And you will not let curiosity overrule protocol."
He sets the chalk down exactly, precisely.
"Questions?"
Silence.
No one dares.
He doesn't look at me this time.
Mercy?
Or saving it for later.
The lecture rolls on.
Reaper procedures.
Case studies.
What happens when a reaper saves a mortal who was "meant" to die.
The answer is: paperwork. And cascading reality issues. And more paperwork.
I try to actually listen.
Not just to not die.
But because… this is the first time someone is saying, out loud, what I am to this place.
An exception.
A problem.
A line that shouldn't exist.
I stare at the board.
"Living," I think, looking at the second circle.
How long does that stay true?
How long can it stay true?
The system, unasked, offers data.
⸻
[Lifespan Projection: 71 Years.]
[Adjustment: –12% Due To Current Environment.]
[Adjustment 2: +Unknown% Due To System Interference.]
[Status: Fluctuating.]
⸻
"Love that," I think. "Very comforting."
Class drones on.
Thaniel occasionally uses hypothetical examples that feel a lot less hypothetical now.
"A living anomaly entering Echo space unsupervised," he says at one point.
Yeah. That sounds familiar.
"A living anomaly creating emotional bonds with high-risk entities."
Okay, that's vague, but I feel personally attacked.
When the period is finally close to ending, Thaniel closes his notebook with a soft snap.
"Final note," he says. "For this term, you will ignore the human."
Every reaper gaze quietly stabs me again.
"He is under supervision. He does not concern your duties. You will treat him as—
—fragile décor."
Excuse me?
My eye twitches.
"The moment he concerns you," Thaniel adds, "that means protocol has failed. And I do not accept failure."
Bell.
Blessed, holy, life-extending bell.
The spectral chime rings through the classroom.
Reapers begin to stand.
Silent.
Efficient.
Scary.
Mira moves first—stepping just far enough into the room that her aura technically counts as escort.
Corvus rises slower.
His gaze slices toward me.
Then to Mira.
Then back.
Hostility?
Jealousy?
Professional concern?
All three.
The system hums.
⸻
[New Threat Vector: CORVUS NIGHTFALL — ELEVATED INTEREST.]
[Relationship: Rival? Monitor? Unknown.]
[Advice: Do Not Engage Alone.]
⸻
I stay seated.
Completely still.
If I pretend to be a chair long enough, maybe they'll—
"Luka."
Mira's voice.
Right.
No chair privileges.
I stand, ignoring the stares digging into my back, and slip out into the hall.
Cold air.
Quieter.
For two whole seconds, I think:
Maybe I get to just leave.
Then the system buzzes again.
⸻
[Notice: Reaper Signature Approaching From Behind.]
[ID: CORVUS NIGHTFALL.]
[Incoming Interaction Likelihood: 94%.]
⸻
Of course.
The footsteps get closer.
I feel his aura push against my back.
He's almost within speaking range.
I did the most manly thing I could think of.
I walk faster toward Mira.
Not running.
Not rushing.
Just… aggressively speed-walking.
It's awkward to say anything with all the reapers around, and the system is still blocking me from saying something stupid—probably to save my life and keep them from "accidentally" breaking fragile décor.
Cold footsteps behind me.
He's still following.
Of course he is.
The system hums.
⸻
[Auto-Skill: PANICKED WALK Activated]
Effect: +15% Movement Speed, +30% Awkwardness
Drawback: Host Looks Like He Needs A Bathroom.
⸻
"RUDE," I think.
I break through the little cluster of leaving students and close the gap to Mira like she's the last safe island in a sea of homicide.
She glances sideways at me.
One raised brow.
"…Subtle," she says.
"Thank you," I mutter. "It's that or die."
Behind us, Corvus's steps slow.
He doesn't call my name.
Doesn't reach out.
Just lets his aura press a little harder for a second—
cold, sharp, evaluating—
then recede.
A reaper version of:
This isn't over.
The system flickers.
⸻
[Threat Level: CORVUS NIGHTFALL — MODERATE, SUSTAINED]
[Intent: Observation, Interference, Possible Future Confrontation]
[Advice: Continue Fleeing Behind Mira. It's Working.]
⸻
"That's your definition of working?" I think.
We exit the Reaper Wing.
The air warms by maybe half a degree.
Lanterns shift from cold-white to ghost-blue.
The moment we're clear of the reapers, my shoulders drop.
I hadn't realized they were up around my ears.
Mira keeps walking.
Silent.
Efficient.
But she doesn't tell me to go away.
That's something.
I shove my hands in my pockets so they don't shake.
My heart is still doing drum practice on my ribs.
"…So," I say after a few steps, voice low, "how much trouble am I in? On a scale of one to 'please choose a coffin finish.'"
"Do not joke about that here," Mira says immediately.
Right.
Reaper territory.
Bad humor.
"Sorry," I mumble.
We walk another few beats.
She finally answers.
"You are not… in trouble," she says. "You are… being measured."
"That sounds worse."
"It is," she says.
Great.
Love that.
Silence stretches between us.
I can feel the Academy shifting around us—hallways changing temperature, a faint tug toward the Spirit Wing, a softer pull somewhere distant and cold that feels like Aeria.
My day is a mess of unresolved flags.
The system drifts back into view.
⸻
[Daily Progress Summary:]
• Survived Orientation
• Attended Hauntology.
• Rejected a ghost.
• Snuck Into Echo Stairwell
• Secured Ghost Princess Connection.
• Survived Spirit Biology.
• Did Not Get Frozen By Arc.
• Ate In Spirit Cafeteria Without Being Eaten.
• Passed Spirit Etiquette (Barely).
• Survived High-Mana Witch Interaction.
• Hugged A Reaper (Again), In Public.
• Attended Reaper Ethics, Did Not Cry.
[Analysis…]
[...Not bad, If You Aim To Be The Next Model Example For Chaotic Living.]
This darned system! Why not help me better next time, then!?
We reach a junction—four branching halls.
Mira stops.
She doesn't look at me when she speaks.
"You are free for this block," she says. "Your next mandatory class is tomorrow. For now…" a brief pause, "don't die."
That's the bar, huh.
Don't die.
She steps away, aura already turning back toward duty, toward Thaniel, toward reaper business I definitely don't belong in.
I'm left standing at the crossroads.
"I really miss milk tea," I think.
The system hums, almost sympathetic.
⸻
[Decision Point Reached.]
[Warning: Whichever You Choose May Advance That Route.]
[Reassurance: You Can Always Make Mistakes Later.]
⸻
I look at each hall.
I am free.
Which is a fancy way of saying:
No one is currently dragging me somewhere dangerous.
And right now?
Honestly?
I choose to do nothing.
"Room," I mutter. "Bed. Horizontal. Unconscious. That's my next class."
My whole body feels weak.
Like the gravity setting got bumped up just for me.
The system flickers.
⸻
[Schedule Check: No Mandatory Classes Remaining Today.]
[Host Status: Tired / Emotionally Overcooked / Still Alive.]
[Suggested Action: REST.]
⸻
"For once," I think, "we agree."
I point myself toward the Mortal Wing and start walking.
Feet drag.
Mind fuzzes.
The Academy blurs into a mix of ghost-blue light, stone arches, and too many near-death experiences.
On the way, I pass the Aura Displacement Closet.
The "feelings cage."
The runes along its door glow faintly.
Soft.
Steady.
One light pulse.
Then another.
Like something inside is… breathing.
I slow.
Just a little.
"…Papa is coming," I whisper under my breath before I can stop myself.
Silence.
Then a faint, muffled plorp.
Another.
Like six tiny jelly things woke up at the same time.
My chest does something weird and warm and guilty all at once.
The system hums quietly.
⸻
[Notice: Panic Slimes Are Stable.]
[Emotional Link: Dampened, Not Removed.]
[Note: They React When You Pass.]
⸻
"Yeah, well," I mumble, "get in line."
I press my hand lightly to the door.
Just once.
The runes flicker pleasantly, like a kid seeing their favorite cartoon.
"Rest," I murmur. "Scream at the wall or whatever. I'll… check on you later."
Another small plorp.
I pull my hand back before I start making actual promises and keep going.
The atmosphere shifts as I re-enter the Mortal Wing.
Less oppressive aura.
Less death-stench.
More floating candles, self-delivering letters, and "mild danger" instead of "cosmic disaster."
My dorm door is exactly where I left it.
Which is great, because if it had moved again I might've just lain down in the hallway and given up.
I push it open.
The room sighs.
Literally.
The bed gives a dignified little exhale, like:
Oh. You again.
"Yeah, yeah," I say. "Missed you, too."
I toe off my shoes, toss my jacket over the back of the desk chair, and faceplant into the mattress.
It… adjusts.
Not in a creepy way.
More like a tired mom resigning itself to one more child.
I let everything go.
The tension.
The acting-cool.
The pretending I'm not terrified 80% of the time.
Just limp.
The system flickers at the edge of my vision.
⸻
[Recommendation: Sleep Cycle Initiation.]
[Optional: Dream Monitoring Protocol.]
⸻
"Do whatever," I mumble into the pillow. "If something wants to kill me in my sleep, at least I won't see it coming."
⸻
[Understood.]
[Enabling Minimal Monitoring.]
[Good… luck?]
⸻
The room is warm.
The ward-lines hum faintly above me like distant traffic.
My eyes close.
Breathing slows.
The mattress stops feeling like haunted infrastructure and starts feeling like gravity winning for once.
I drift.
Down.
Down.
…
Darkness.
Not the void from when I choked.
Not the gentle dark of sleep.
Colder.
Sharper.
The system surges back into view like it just got shoved awake.
⸻
[ALERT: Unscheduled Dream Event Detected.]
[Source: UNKNOWN.]
[Layer Influence: ECHO — HIGH.]
[Host Consciousness: Drifting Toward Active Dream-State.]
⸻
My stomach drops.
Or it would, if I still had one here.
I'm standing.
Suddenly.
On something that looks like stone but feels like memory.
The corridor ahead is long.
Empty.
Walls made of nothing and everything—bus handrails, academy stone, stairwell echoes.
Far at the end of it:
A flicker of ghost-blue light.
And a shadow.
Tall.
Frail.
Familiar in the worst way.
His voice reaches me first.
Soft.
Ancient.
Amused.
"Luka Vale," Venerable Haunt says from the far end of the corridor. "You did not think sleep would free you from… evaluation, did you?"
The air tightens around me.
The system is screaming silently.
⸻
[EMERGENCY DREAM QUEST TRIGGERED:]
"Face The One Watching Your Dreams."
Objective:
• Decide How To Respond To Venerable Haunt In This Echo-Dream.
Recommended Options (Not Exhaustive):
• Act respectful and cautious.
• Joke as a shield.
• Demand answers.
• Try to wake up.
Penalty For Inaction: UNKNOWN.
⸻
My body is gone.
My heart is loud.
My brain is already regretting wanting a nap.
I'm barefoot in my own head, staring down an ancient catastrophe spirit in a corridor built out of my memories.
Do I play along?
Try to wake myself up?
Pretend I'm not terrified?
BUT SERIOUSLY. YOU CAN DISTURB ME IN MY DREAMS TOO!?