Rain hammered the streets of Tokyo like bullets.
Akira Sato, seventeen years old and already hollowed out by life, pedaled his rusted delivery bike through the downpour. Packages rattled in the basket. His soaked black hair clung to his face, half-covering eyes that had long forgotten how to hope.
Headlights flared.
A truck horn screamed.
Impact.
Everything went black.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in the void.
[System Activation: Overlord Interface – Fractured. Host: Akira Sato. Rank: F (Cursed Exile). Essence: 0. Skills: Suppressed.]
Akira jolted awake, face pressed into cold mud. The rain was gone. Instead, he lay in a narrow alley lit by flickering blue lanterns. Towering stone buildings loomed overhead, their architecture alien medieval spires mixed with glowing runes. Cloaked figures hurried past without a glance.
He pushed himself up, hands trembling. His delivery uniform was gone, replaced by tattered rags. A translucent blue window hovered in his vision.
[Daily Quest: Survive the Slums Until Dawn. Reward: +5 Essence, Crude Dagger. Failure Penalty: Sanity Drain.]
Akira stared at it, heart pounding. This wasn't a dream. This was real.
He stumbled into the street. The city Valeria, the system helpfully labeled was alive with brutal hierarchy. An F-rank beggar was kicked aside by an armored mercenary for blocking the path. No one helped. No one even looked.
Hunger gnawed at him. Desperate, Akira snatched a loaf of bread from an unattended stall. The merchant, a burly man with faint earth magic glowing around his fists, gave chase.
Akira ran until his lungs burned, ducking into a dead-end alley. The merchant cornered him, sneering.
"Thieving slum rat. Time to learn your place."
The man lunged. Instinct something buried deep and cold took over.
Akira grabbed a broken glass bottle from the ground and slashed upward. Blood sprayed across the wall. The merchant howled, clutching his arm. He swung again, but Akira was faster. He drove the jagged edge into the man's throat.
The body slumped.
Silence.
Akira stared at his blood-soaked hands. He should have been horrified. Instead, a faint, familiar calm settled over him like muscle memory from a life he couldn't remember.
The system window flared.
[First Essence Absorption Complete. +10 Essence. Skill Unlocked: Stealth (Lv.1). Warning: Host sanity decreased by 3%. Hallucination risk rising.]
For a split second, ghostly images flickered at the edge of his vision small hands reaching out, faces turning away, a knife in the dark. Then they vanished.
Night fell. Hiding in a derelict warehouse, Akira met a scarred, grizzled warrior nursing a bottle Thorne, B-rank from the Iron Fist Guild.
The man eyed the blood on Akira's clothes and smirked.
"Kid, you just killed a registered merchant. That's a death mark unless you're protected."
Akira met his gaze, voice flat. "Then protect me."
Thorne barked a laugh. "You've got killer's eyes. Join a guild or die tomorrow. Whispering Blades might take trash like you if you survive the night."
Dawn broke hours later.
Akira stood on a crumbling rooftop, overlooking Valeria City's towering spires. The system pinged softly.
[Quest Complete. Crude Dagger Acquired. Recommended Action: Accumulate gold for guild registration.]
He gripped the dagger's hilt. Thin wisps of shadow curled faintly around his fingers his first glimpse of the void stirring inside him.
Akira's crimson eyes reflected the rising sun.
"I don't remember who I was," he whispered to the empty air. "But I know what I am now."