---
The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, like a trapped wasp drilling into the skull until you couldn't tell if the sound was real or just your brain frying.
Logan stood in the instant noodle aisle of a convenience store, staring down a rainbow of styrofoam cups. Beef flavor, chicken flavor, seafood flavor that tasted like salt and regret. His tie hung loose around his neck, shirt creased as if it had been crumpled in a corner before being wrestled back on.
He lifted one of the cups, squinting at the price tag. Cheap. Filling enough to keep him upright for another miserable day.
"Dinner for champions," he muttered, voice dry as sandpaper.
The words tasted bitter even as he smirked. A man shouldn't call ramen "dinner" three nights in a row—yet here he was, considering four. His stomach growled like an unimpressed cat.
He tossed another cup into his basket.
The doors at the front of the store hissed open.
Logan barely glanced up. A gust of night air swept in, carrying exhaust and damp asphalt. He shifted his weight, the basket handle biting into his palm. He should have been home already—showered, collapsed on the couch, scrolling through trash TV until he passed out. Instead, he was here. Again.
His eyes drifted toward the glass windows. A delivery truck roared past, tires screaming against the pavement. The squeal wasn't unusual in the city, but something about the pitch made him look again.
A child.
A boy stood frozen in the middle of the crosswalk, no older than ten. His backpack sagged on his shoulders, eyes wide at the headlights bearing down on him.
Logan's stomach dropped.
"…Oh, shit."
He didn't think. His body moved. He flung the basket aside—instant noodles spilling across the floor like fallen soldiers—and bolted through the automatic doors.
The night air hit like a slap, cold and sharp. Headlights swelled into white fire.
Logan's arms locked around the boy, shoving him sideways with everything he had.
The kid tumbled to the curb, knees scraped raw, but breathing. Alive. Staring in stunned disbelief.
Logan's chest heaved. His pulse thundered. His heart jackhammered with the wild realization: I did it. I actually saved—
THUNK.
The truck swerved at the last moment, bumper smashing into a vending machine parked neatly on the sidewalk. Bolts screamed as they tore from the concrete.
The machine tipped.
Logan looked up, sweat dripping down his brow.
A wall of steel and neon-blue paint loomed above him, glass rattling as cans clinked inside.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
The boy screamed something he couldn't hear.
Logan had time for one thought: I'm not dying in a blaze of glory. Not a tragic romance. Not even a heroic sacrifice anyone will remember.
"Fucking Pepsi?" he groaned, a bitter laugh bubbling out with the words.
The vending machine's shadow swallowed him whole.
CRASH.
---
Darkness.
Thick, endless, suffocating.
Not sleep. Not silence. Just nothing—heavy enough to crush thought until he wasn't sure he had thoughts anymore.
Then—
"...what the hell?."
"…Oh, hell no."
He blinked, staring at narrow fingers, clean nails.
"No. Nope. This isn't—this is not real."
---
Logan dragged both hands down his face, muttering through his palms. "Okay, Logan. Don't panic. You got flattened by carbonated sugar water, and now you're… here. Either this is a fever dream, or you've joined the exclusive 'Truck-Kun Alumni Club.' Lucky you."
His laugh cracked in the middle.
Then the voice came. Calm. Cutting.
> [Initialization complete. Host consciousness stabilized.]
> [Designation confirmed: Logan Dex'Murphy. Status: fallen noble heir, age seventeen. Current condition: fragile.]
Logan flinched. "—The hell was that?"
> [System online. Identifier: Nyx Nexus.]
"System," he repeated, lips twitching. "So I actually did get one of those cliché cheat codes. Nice. What do I get? Sword of a thousand truths? Instant harem pass? Maybe a coupon for eternal glory?"
> [Clarification: Host currently possesses no notable assets, abilities, or redeeming features.]
His mouth opened. Shut. Opened again. "…Excuse me?"
> [Assessment complete. Summary: Host is below average in all measurable categories.]
Logan barked a laugh so sharp the lantern flame flickered. "You're serious. My magical cheat system just called me a loser. Outstanding."
> [Statement of fact, not insult.]
"Oh, that makes me feel so much better." Logan shoved to his feet, wobbling before steadying on the bedpost. His legs trembled—not weak, but unused, like they'd forgotten how to hold him. "Alright, Nyx Nexus, or whatever dumb anime name you've got. What exactly are you? AI? Tutorial fairy? The voice in my head that eventually tells me to burn villages?"
> [I am your Nexus. Your anchor. Your guide to evolution. Without me, you will remain nothing.]
The voice was calm, but beneath it pressed a density, a weight that gnawed at the edges of his skull.
Logan squinted. "You're dramatic, I'll give you that. What's next, cryptic riddles and mysterious prophecies?"
Silence.
Then:
> [You will learn, in time, that silence is preferable to truth.]
The words landed like a knife. Logan's smirk faltered before he forced it back.
"…That's not ominous at all."
He paced the floorboards, bare feet whispering against the wood. "Okay, let's test boundaries. Can anyone else hear you?"
> [Negative. Only the Host has access to this channel.]
"So I'm the only one who gets to enjoy your delightful personality. Great. Love that for me."
> [Correct.]
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "…Do you always talk like this?"
> [Clarification requested.]
"Like a divorce lawyer with a God complex."
For the first time, silence stretched longer. Not refusal, not calculation—just waiting. Logan almost swore he could feel the system learning how to glare without eyes.
Finally, it spoke.
> [Host confuses restraint for weakness. That mistake will not repeat often.]
There it was—the calm cracking. Not emotion. Something colder.
Logan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
"…Noted." His sarcasm was quieter this time.
He turned toward the cracked mirror above the basin. A boy's reflection stared back. Seventeen, maybe. Dark hair falling across his forehead, gray-green eyes sharp but ringed with shadows. Too thin. Cheekbones stark.
"Fallen noble heir, huh?" He leaned closer, brushing a strand aside. "From thirty-year-old retail slave to discount aristocrat. I've really hit the jackpot."
> [Correction: fallen noble heir. Your family's fortune and status have already deteriorated. Current trajectory indicates further decline.]
"…Wow. You're just a ray of sunshine." Logan raked a hand through his hair, studying the stranger's face. "Fine. Let's pretend I buy into this. Fallen noble. Fantasy world. Whatever. What's your deal, Nyx Nexus? What's the catch?"
Silence hummed, deliberate.
> [I am the catch.]
Logan blinked. "That's… way creepier than you think it is."
Before the voice could reply, the door creaked open.
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