Akihabara was not a place. It was a frequency.
The moment we stepped off the train, the air changed. It wasn't the ozone-heavy tension of Jounan High, nor the sweet, cloying danger of Harajuku. This was pure, concentrated electricity. The neon signs didn't just glow; they screamed. The massive screens on the sides of buildings played anime trailers that seemed to bleed into the sky, the colors running like wet paint.
"It's... noisy," Akemi muttered, adjusting her sunglasses. She looked like a secret agent trying to infiltrate a comic con, her black tactical gear standing out starkly against the sea of cosplayers and tourists.
"It's not noise," I said, my [Hunter's Gaze] flaring painfully. "It's data."
