Chapter 2: Rooftop Reunion
The climb to the rooftop was a brutal slog, Kirito's muscles screaming despite the fading rush of his last Stamina Burst, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
His hair clung to his neck, damp and itchy with sweat, the early morning sun glaring off the shattered glass scattered across the rooftop, turning it into a jagged, shimmering hazard.
The cache was there—crates stacked haphazardly under a grimy tarp, flapping like a wounded bird in the biting wind that carried the distant hum of neon.
"See? My intuition's basically magic," Kirito whispered, his voice tight with forced confidence as he moved toward the crates, his boots kicking up faint clouds of dust.
[SYSTEM: PUZZLE EXECUTION: CACHE PINPOINT (FREE)]
[OBJECTIVE: IDENTIFY PRIORITY SUPPLY BOXES. STATUS: 70% CHANCE OF MEDICAL SUPPLIES.]
A faint blue outline glowed on two crates, visible only to him, a beacon in the chaos of the ruined city.
He tugged at the tarp's ropes, the coarse hemp biting into his palms, his breath hitching with a desperate hope.
"Medical supplies. Please. We're one bad scrape from game over."
A crate splintered with a crash, wood shards scattering like broken bones across the asphalt.
A shadow darted across the rooftop, sharp against the sun's blinding glare, moving with a predator's grace.
Usagi emerged, her ponytail whipping like a battle standard, dust swirling around her boots as she landed lightly, her scarred face taut with suspicion.
Her presence was electric, her movements precise, her scar—a jagged line across her cheek—pulsing faintly as if echoing past pain.
Her eyes, hard and evaluating, locked onto Kirito, her hand gripping a metal pipe that glinted in the sunlight.
Before he could process, the pipe whistled toward his head, cutting the air with a deadly hum.
"Holy mother of parkour! She's a damn ninja!"
[SYSTEM: ACTIVATING AGILITY LEAP: 50 SP DOCKED. SP REMAINING: 80.]
[HOST AGILITY TEMPORARILY BOOSTED. DURATION: 5 SECONDS.]
His body reacted without thought, the System's boost turning a clumsy stumble into a fluid, impossible dodge.
He arched back, the pipe grazing the edge of his vest, and landed two meters away, one foot balanced on a low concrete barrier—a move that looked like it belonged in a parkour reel.
He threw up his hands, his flirty surrender a desperate mask for his racing pulse, the metallic taste of fear sharp in his throat.
"Woah there, warrior queen! Nice swing. Trying out for the Borderland Hammer Throw team? Gold medal vibes."
Usagi didn't lower the pipe, her scar catching the light, her eyes narrowing as dust settled around her boots like a challenge.
"Who are you? Scavengers?"
Her voice was sharp, like glass breaking underfoot, each word a warning.
"Back off the supplies."
Arisu stepped forward, his charcoal-smudged fingers clutching Chota's lighter, its tiny flame a small, defiant spark in the harsh morning light.
"We're not stealing. We lost friends. Heard about you, Usagi, the rooftop runner. We just want to survive."
The lighter's glow caught her gaze, softening the edges of her suspicion, her shoulders easing slightly as she recognized the names—Chota, Karube.
The pipe lowered with a dull thud, dust puffing around it like a sigh, the tension on the rooftop loosening like a held breath.
"Fine. I was here first. You take medical supplies, I'll take food."
She pulled two bags from under the tarp, and they huddled in its shade, the sun's heat prickling their skin like tiny needles, the air heavy with the scent of dust and decay.
A fragile alliance took root, born of shared loss and the raw need to survive another day.
They sat near the rooftop's edge, the city's smokes curling below like ghostly fingers, the occasional glint of game cards catching the light in the dust.
Kirito's sleeve snagged on a crate's splinter, tearing with a loud rrrrrippp, the sound echoing in the quiet like a gunshot.
[FUNNY MOMENTS: CLOTHING MISHAP TRIGGERED: KIRITO'S EMBARRASSMENT.]
Usagi snorted, a rare crack in her stoic mask, her eyes glinting with unexpected amusement.
"Nice armor, Charmer."
Kirito flushed, tugging the torn sleeve down, his face burning with embarrassment.
"My pain is her punchline. Rude."
"It's distressed vintage, thank you," he said, his voice high with mock indignation.
"Makes me look less like a target and more like a guy with a tragic backstory. So, Usagi—killer name, by the way—in or out? We're hitting a 2♠ game. Low risk, physical run."
He checked his phone, angling it away from their prying eyes, his heart sinking at the numbers.
[HOST: KIRITO - STATUS UPDATE. STRENGTH: 5. AGILITY: 6. STAMINA: 7.]
[SP: 80. MUST WIN 2♠.]
"Low SP. One bad call, and we're done."
Usagi's gaze sliced through him, sharp and unyielding, her scar a stark reminder of her own survival.
"Don't call me 'warrior queen.' Your charm's a liability, not a cheat code. Strategy, Kirito. Not pickup lines."
"See? Matching sarcasm. We're practically family," Kirito grinned, his cheeks still hot, the wind tugging at his torn sleeve.
Arisu, sketching the meteor crater on a piece of cardboard with rapid, obsessive strokes, spoke up, his voice surprisingly steady.
"The games are rigged to break us, to make us betray ourselves. But low-risk cards, physical ones… we win by holding on to each other."
His earnest conviction cut through the shimmering heat, a quiet force that seemed to anchor Usagi, her eyes flickering with something like respect.
The air between them thickened, a tangible bond forming in the dust and sunlight.
She tossed her ponytail, the motion sharp but not dismissive, her voice steady.
"Fine. I take point. Kirito, one more game metaphor, and I tie you to the railing."
The team—Charmer, Brains, Brawn—was forged, their bond a fragile shield against the city's cruelty.
They packed the supplies, their footsteps descending the rickety stairwell in a shared rhythm, the metal creaking under their weight.
The 2♠ arena loomed ahead, its neon pulse a faint, ominous glow in the distance, calling them to the next trial.
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