Mira moves.
And in that precise moment—
Mira moves so fast the air cracks.
My hand slips from her coat.
My feet stumble backward.
And in that exact heartbeat—
The Echo Remnant lunges.
Not at her.
At me.
It passes so close I feel the cold tear of space brush my cheek, like reality itself tried to take a bite.
My brain refuses to register the near-death.
My legs forget how to stand.
And suddenly—
—snot.
Actual, humiliating, panicked snot sliding out of my nose.
"HEY, DARNED SYSTEM! CAN'T YOU DO SOMETHING!?"
The words rip out of me in a terrified howl.
Mira whips her head toward me in disbelief—
And that's when I realize:
I have made a terrible mistake.
Because the creature—
the nightmare echo—
the glitch in the hallway of a school for ghosts—
heard me.
It turns.
Slowly.
Jerky.
Like a half-loaded animation.
Its face twists toward me, cracking like old porcelain.
A voice grinds out of it:
"Li…ving…"
"Oh sh—"
I run.
I don't think.
I don't breathe.
I don't strategize.
I RUN.
I sprint down the hallway like every embarrassing childhood memory is chasing me at once.
My shoes slap the polished floor.
Lanterns flicker violently as I pass under them.
The corridor warps with Echo distortion as the shadow crashes after me.
Behind me I hear Mira shout:
"Luka, STOP—!"
Absolutely not.
Absolutely NOT am I stopping for anything except possibly a wall or death.
The system finally responds, but not helpfully.
⸻
[Quest Progress Updated: SPRINTING FOR YOUR LIFE]
[Calculating Survival Probability…]
[Result: Low. Very low. Incredibly low.]
⸻
"USELESS!" I scream over my shoulder.
The Echo Remnant shrieks, a sound like ten broken mirrors screaming in harmony.
I skid around a corner.
The hallway ahead distorts—
stretching—
tilting—
the floor suddenly slanting downward like a slide built by an eldritch architect.
"Oh no no no no—"
I lose my balance.
My feet slide.
And suddenly I'm tumbling down a corridor that has decided it wants to be a gravity tunnel today, rolling head over heels while some otherworldly creature follows like a nightmare slinky.
Just as I flip for the third time, Mira leaps into view above me—
descending like death in a school uniform—
her scythe already mid-swing.
"Luka, brace—!"
I do not brace.
I flail.
I yell.
I don't think.
I don't plan.
I latch onto Mira like she's a life-sized emotional support scythe.
My arms wrap around her waist in a panic hug that would embarrass my entire bloodline.
My face presses into her uniform.
Snot—actual, wet, mortifying snot—smears across what I assume is a very expensive, possibly cursed reaper cloak.
Her entire body freezes.
Not "surprised" freeze.
Reaper freeze.
As in:
the air temperature drops ten degrees and my soul tries to climb out of my body to escape her wrath freeze.
Her voice cuts through the distortion like tempered steel:
"…Luka. Release me."
"THIS IS MY IDEA OF BRACING!" I shriek, voice cracking in four places.
The Echo Remnant screeches behind us—too close—too fast—too eager to taste living.
Mira's hand twitches.
Not toward pushing me off.
Toward summoning something.
"I SAID RELEASE—!"
I cling harder. My entire weight is on her now.
"I'M GOING TO DIE—LET ME BE A PARASITE IN PEACE!!!"
She makes a noise that sounds halfway between a snarl and a panicked inhale.
Reapers don't feel emotions.
Reapers don't panic.
But apparently reapers DO malfunction when a living human is glued to their chest like a terrified barnacle.
The system chimes in, useless as ever:
⸻
[NOTICE: You Are Clinging To A Reaper.]
[Risk Of Soul Damage: Extremely High.]
[Risk Of Emotional Damage: Already Occurring.]
⸻
"YOU THINK!?" I scream.
Mira finally snaps.
Her aura spikes—cold, slicing, absolute.
"Fine—HOLD ON!"
"I AM!!"
The world bends.
Her scythe manifests in a burst of violet-black aura, slicing into existence with a chilling shriek. The air warps as she swings it downward in a crescent arc—
SHING
—cutting the Echo Remnant's lunge in half.
Not cleanly.
Nothing about Echo beings is clean.
The creature splits, its body unraveling into ribbons of memory-noise, screaming as its form collapses.
The force of the swing blasts through the corridor, stabilizing the distortion and slamming me and Mira backward into a stone column.
My skull survives.
Barely.
My dignity does not.
I'm still hugging her.
She's still letting me.
Sort of.
Only because I haven't stopped clinging.
Her voice is quiet.
Dangerously quiet.
"…release me."
"Ha…haha… no," I say weakly. "If I let go I'll fall over and die from embarrassment."
"You are already dying from embarrassment."
"SEE? SO LET ME CLING!"
Her eye twitches.
But her grip shifts—one arm around me, steadying me despite her expression promising consequences.
Students gather at the end of the hall now—ghosts, spirits, yokai—staring at the scene like they've just witnessed a cryptid clinging to a reaper.
Well. They have.
Mira inhales sharply, composes herself, and pulls me upright.
"You," she says, voice trembling with the effort of containing something suspiciously like emotion, "are forbidden from touching me without permission."
"Oh! Totally understandable," I nod vigorously. "Please consider this an emergency exception clause."
"You caused the emergency!" she snaps.
I open my mouth—
then close it—
because she is absolutely correct.
The system flickers:
⸻
[Quest Complete: DO NOT DIE ON THE WAY TO YOUR DORM]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
Bonus Reward: Mira's Opinion Has Changed (???)
[New Status Added: TRAUMATIZINGLY CLINGY (Temporary)]
⸻
"TRAUMATIZINGLY WHAT—!?"
Before I can argue, Mira yanks my collar and drags me down the hall like a misbehaving puppy.
"Wha—hey—!"
"Enough," she mutters. "You need to be contained immediately."
"That sounds like jail—ARE YOU TAKING ME TO JAIL!?"
"No. To your dorm."
"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A WORSE JAIL!!"
Her steps quicken.
So do my regrets.
We turn a corner toward an ominous-looking wing of the Academy—
dark, abandoned, humming with wards like they're gossiping about me.
A sign swings overhead:
CONTAINMENT DORMITORY — Human-Compatible (Theoretically)
I stare.
Mira stops.
Turns to look at me.
Her expression is unreadable—cold, stern, worried? Maybe?
She speaks in a low voice:
"Luka Vale… your presence is more dangerous than you understand. You attract Echo-class beings. Spirit creatures react to your scent. Witches lose control near you. And reapers—…"
She stops.
Something unspoken lingers.
I swallow. Hard.
"Mira…?" I whisper. "Are you saying I'm cursed?"
"No."
She meets my eyes.
"It's worse."
Her aura brushes me—cold but steady.
"You're alive."
She lets that sit.
And for the first time since arriving, I feel the truth of it:
In a world filled with the dead…
the living is the anomaly.
And anomalies attract everything.
Mira pushes open the door to my new "room."
"Get inside. Before something else tries to kill you."
The room beyond is dim, warded, and absolutely not normal.
She was worried just now, wasn't she?
…no.
No. No, that can't be—
except the way her aura tightened around me, the way her voice softened, the way she physically put herself between me and an Echo Remnant like she'd done it without thinking—
Yeah.
Yeah, she absolutely was.
A little snort of a laugh tries to escape me. The kind a guy makes when he realizes he might not die alone in an eldritch academy after all.
I swallow it.
This is not the time to sound like a squeaky toy.
This is the time to be cool.
This is the time to be suave.
This is the time to—
not die.
But mostly the suave thing.
I walk forward calmly, stepping past the threshold of the "containment dorm," and pause by the open doorway. I turn back just enough for her to catch the side of my face—
classic dramatic angle.
My voice steadies, dropping all the panic, all the fear, all the screaming-like-a-panicked-gremlin from earlier.
"I don't want to bother you more than I already have."
Her eyes flicker.
I continue, carefully, deliberately:
"Whatever is bothering you… however I affect reapers…"
I shake my head, slow and easy—not fully turning back, but enough for her to hear every word clearly.
"Thank you, Mira. For helping me."
I let the weight settle.
"And for worrying about me."
She goes still.
Perfectly, impossibly still.
Reapers already move like statues—but this?
This is different.
Her pupils dilate just slightly, her silver lashes twitching.
A ripple travels through her aura, subtle but unmistakable—like she just forgot how to breathe for half a second.
Reapers don't breathe, but still. The effect counts.
The system chooses this moment to chime in:
⸻
[Alert: You Have Caused A Reaper To Experience "Feelings."]
[Warning: This Is Highly Illegal.]
⸻
Mira opens her mouth.
No sound comes out.
She closes it again.
Tries once more.
"…I was not… worried."
Her voice betrays her. Just barely.
I smile—small, soft, not cocky. Honest.
"Of course not."
She looks like she wants to argue—
but can't.
Her gloved hand flexes at her side, like she's fighting the urge to reach out or stab someone or possibly both.
Finally, she says quietly:
"Rest. Do not leave this room. The academy will be… aware of you soon."
And then—something I'm pretty sure no student here has ever witnessed:
She steps back.
Not coldly.
Not dismissively.
But carefully.
As if she's afraid that coming an inch closer to me might unravel something inside her.
She turns sharply, cloak snapping with a faint echo of grief-colored aura, and walks away down the hall.
For the first time since meeting her, I notice something:
She doesn't glide like a reaper.
She walks like someone shaken.
The door closes slowly behind me with a soft, haunted click.
The room settles into silence.
Then—
⸻
[Relationship Update: Mira Thanatiel — Interest Shift Detected]
[Category Change: From Neutral Hostility → Unsettled Curiosity]
[New Trait Unlocked: 'The Reaper Remembers Your Gratitude']
⸻
The system hums smugly.
I exhale.
A lot just happened.
Too much.
And now I'm alone in a containment dorm meant for creatures that explode if exposed to sunlight.
I succeeded in being suave.
In being cool.
In being—dare I say—colder.
Not dead, but definitely cooler than I was ten minutes ago.
And if making a reaper stutter isn't on my résumé yet, it really should be.
So, naturally, I take my victory lap by—
inspecting the containment dorm like a paranoid raccoon.
I spin slowly, eyes darting everywhere.
Is this…
Is this really human-friendly?
The walls hum with quiet wards.
The lanterns float.
Something in the corner wiggles when I look at it too long.
Not great signs.
My brows knife together.
"Whatever. The BATHROOM!? IS IT CLEAN!?"
My voice echoes way too loudly.
A door to the side creaks ominously.
A glowing eye peers out.
Then blinks off like a light.
…I'm choosing to believe that was plumbing.
"And the BED!??"
I poke the mattress.
It sighs.
Actually sighs.
Like it's tired of me already.
"Okay… noted."
"And the WINDOW!??"
I start toward it—
then freeze.
Right.
Better not open that.
I don't know what forsaken nightmare might crawl through trying to enroll me as breakfast.
I pivot, sit at the edge of the bed-that-sighs, and drop my voice.
"System, you can do something, right? Anything? Like a… status window?"
For two seconds, there is silence.
Then the system reacts like a depressed toaster forced to power on:
⸻
[Request Received: STATUS WINDOW]
[Warning: Host Is Not A Valid Entity Type For Standard Status Formats]
[Attempting Improvised Display…]
⸻
Blue symbols glitch in front of me, flickering like a dying neon sign.
Then—
pop
A crooked, slightly melted-looking interface appears.
— STATUS: Luka Vale —
Classification: INVALID HUMAN
Haunt Rank: …NONE?
Aptitude: ERROR
Ectocore: NOT INSTALLED
Realm Affinity: N/A (WHY ARE YOU ALIVE)
System Sync: 0.7% (Help.)
Skills:
• Human Instinct Tree — Tier 0 (Congratulations. You exist.)
• Haunting Tree — LOCKED (You are not dead.)
Haunt Points: 0 (Tragic.)
Condition:
• Alive (Inconvenient)
• Slight Panic
• Residual Reaper Contact
• "Coolness Surge" — TEMPORARY BUFF
It flickers aggressively.
⸻
[Note: This status window is held together with metaphorical duct tape.]
[Please reduce expectations.]
⸻
I stare at it.
My eye twitches.
"...System," I whisper, "this looks like a phone screen after getting run over."
⸻
[We are doing our best.]
⸻
I sigh.
Okay.
Deep breaths.
I'm alive.
I'm in a school for dead things.
A reaper just escorted me personally.
I somehow survived the Echo thing that tried to make me a chew toy.
And now—
I have a glorified bootleg status window.
I stare at the "0" so hard it might combust.
"…Wait."
"WAIT A MINUTE—YOU GLITCHED BUFFOON OF A SYSTEM!"
The screen flinches.
"You—with your errors! I definitely gained Haunt Points through the entire thing!"
Memory kicks me in the shins.
The quests. The warnings. The screaming.
"I gained those points rightfully, did I not!?"
I jab a finger at the screen.
"You SCAMMER!"
The system freezes like it's pretending to be invisible.
Then:
⸻
[ALERT: HOST HAS INITIATED ACCUSATION MODE]
[Searching Quest Log…]
[…Regrettable.]
⸻
A new panel opens—like it's reluctantly confessing a crime.
⸻
— QUEST HISTORY —
[Tutorial Quest: Stay Alive]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
[Do Not Die On the Way to the Headmaster's Office]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
[Emergency Quest: LIVE]
Reward: +1 Haunt Point
⸻
Three.
That's THREE points.
I squint so hard I could cut diamonds.
"The system said I had ZERO."
Static.
Silence.
Guilt.
Then—
⸻
[Recalculating…]
[…]
[Fine.]
⸻
My total updates:
⸻
HAUNT POINTS: 3
⸻
The system coughs in text.
⸻
[Clarification: There was a temporary bookkeeping anomaly.]
[Clarification 2: Host survived too quickly.]
[Clarification 3: Please stop pointing.]
⸻
I point harder.
"You SCAMMER."
⸻
[We are sorry.]
⸻
The window shrinks like it's trying to hide under a bed.
I flop backward onto the mattress, arms spread out.
"Unbelievable. Even my afterlife-app is a tax evader."
The bed sighs again.
I sigh back.
Okay.
I have 3 Haunt Points now.
They are canon. Logged. Real. The system can't run from them.
Now what?
What do I do with them?
Spend them?
Save them?
Bribe the bed?
"What can I do with these points, exactly?"
I sit up, glaring at the flickering blue system window like it owes me lunch money.
The system blinks.
Stutters.
Probably sweating in binary.
⸻
[Haunt Points: Usable For Limited System Functions]
[Examples Include:]
• Minor emergency support
• Temporary buffs
• Avoiding premature death
• Negotiating with hostile spirits (low success rate)
• Buying snacks from Echo Vending Machines (NOT RECOMMENDED)
⸻
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"So basically… coupons for not dying."
⸻
[Correct.]
⸻
Wonderful.
My life hangs on loyalty points.
My gaze drifts to the bed—a harmless-looking thing with crisp sheets and a subtle ripple under the blanket.
I narrow my eyes at it.
"And also, WHY in the world is this bed sighing?"
The bed lets out another long, dramatic, depressed exhale.
I turn fully toward it, grin creeping up my face like an unhinged cartoon villain.
"Ohhhhh, no. You don't get to sigh at ME."
I point at the mattress.
"You can't get rid of me."
I lean in closer, eyes wide.
"You are stuck with me…
FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE HERE AT SCHOOL!"
The bed makes a noise.
A noise that sounds very much like:
"oh god no."
The system chimes.
⸻
[Observation: Containment Bed Is Experiencing Existential Horror]
[Suggestion: Please Stop Threatening The Furniture]
⸻
I flop backwards onto it, arms spread wide like a king claiming territory.
The bed, under me, emits the gentlest possible:
"why."
I smirk.
"System, buddy… I think I'm winning."
⸻
[Technically, you are alive, so yes.]
⸻
Before I can brag further, the lights in the room flicker—once, twice—and something small and glowing drifts near the window.
A spirit wisp?
A ghost bug?
A tiny floating problem?
Hard to tell.
It bumps into the window, then into the wall, then into the ceiling like it's too stupid to navigate existence.
The system pings.
⸻
[ALERT: LOW-THREAT ENTITY APPROACHING]
[Would You Like To Spend A Haunt Point?]
Options:
• Analyze Entity
• Scare It Away
• Capture It (Questionable Use)
• Do Nothing
⸻
Oh good.
An opportunity.
Or a disaster.
"A HAUNT POINT? For this?"
My voice jumps an octave.
"B–but… whatever! Survival first, money later. CATCH IT!"
The system does not hesitate.
⸻
[Haunt Point Spent: –1]
[Remaining: 2]
[Initiating… Host-Assisted Capture Protocol]
⸻
…Host-assisted?
Wait.
"W-wait, what does that—"
A sudden jolt runs through my arm.
Not painful.
Not pleasant.
Just the distinct sensation of being used as a tool by a very lazy, very defective necromantic software.
My hand snaps up on its own.
"OH—HEY—STOP—STOP MOVING MY—"
The glowing little blob of stupidity bounces toward me.
My arm whips out.
My fingers pinch.
And—
I grab it.
A tiny, squishy, warm ball of light.
The wisp freezes in my grip like a stunned dumpling.
I stare at it.
It stares at me.
Both of us confused.
The system pings smugly.
⸻
[Capture Successful.]
[Entity Identified:]
WISPETTE (Lesser Spirit / Emotion-Eating Puffball)
Temperament: Confused
Danger Level: Minimal
⸻
The puffball wiggles weakly.
"…I used a Haunt Point on THIS?"
I squint at it.
It squeaks.
Squeaks.
The system adds:
⸻
[Benefit Gained: Reduced Room Anxiety Level]
[Containment Dorm Spirits Are Less Likely To Investigate You]
⸻
"Oh."
I turn the wispette upside down.
It flails like a marshmallow with limbs.
"That actually is helpful."
The bed under me sighs again—this time with relief, like finally, someone else is suffering.
I set the wispette gently onto the desk.
It rolls twice, bumps into a book, then stops moving entirely like it accepted its fate.
"Stay," I tell it.
It doesn't move.
Good.
I dust my hands dramatically.
"And THAT, bed, is how you survive in this Academy. Learn something."
The system flickers again.
⸻
[Host Has Displayed Competence]
[Temporary Buff: +1 Confidence (Fragile)]
⸻
I grin.
"Oh yeah. I'm thriving."
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
I freeze.
The sound is sharp.
Metallic.
Too slow to be human.
Too structured to be friendly.
The wispette dives behind the book.
The bed whimpers.
The lantern dims.
The system…
predictably…
panics.
⸻
[ALERT: UNKNOWN PRESENCE OUTSIDE DOOR]
[Threat Level: Unknown]
[This Might Be Fine.]
"Uhm… yeah. Nothing good comes out of answering that door."
Another knock.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like the thing outside has all the time in the world… and wants me to know it.
I turn toward the wispette, who is currently pretending to be a round, decorative paperweight behind the book.
I jab a finger at it.
"Hey, whisp-whatever. Go check that out."
No response.
I lean in closer, my tone dropping into a low, dramatic whisper:
"Or I throw you there. Choose."
The wispette shakes.
SHAKES.
Like a terrified jellybean being threatened by a toddler.
Then, against all its better judgment—and absolutely because it fears for its tiny marshmallow life—it rolls out from behind the book…
…pauses…
…then sloooowly levitates toward the door like a guilty balloon.
The system chimes in, sounding way too impressed.
⸻
[Host Influence Over Lesser Spirits: +1]
[Comment: Threat-Based Leadership… effective?]
⸻
"I call it assertive management," I whisper.
The wispette reaches the door.
Hovers.
Bounces lightly against the wood.
Then pokes its face—its whole body—through the door.
Yes.
Through.
It phases halfway, like a gooey flashlight.
It freezes.
I freeze.
The room freezes.
The system freezes.
Then—
The wispette shoots back through the door like it's been yeeted by God, slamming into my chest with a panicked fwump.
"GACK—HEY—WHAT—WHAT DID YOU SEE!?"
The wispette trembles madly, vibrating like a scared phone on silent mode.
The system interprets.
⸻
[Spirit Scan Interpreted:]
Presence Detected:
Fennriselle (Fenn)
Classification: Wolf-Spirit Girl
Aura State: Overexcited
Intent: Approach Host
Danger Level: Medium (Physical), High (Emotional), Unknown (Instinctive)
⸻
The system adds:
⸻
[Note: Wolf Spirits Respond Strongly To New Scents.]
[Note 2: You Are A New Scent.]
[Note 3: Good Luck.]
⸻
The knocking stops.
Which is somehow worse.
A soft sniffing sound presses against the tiny gap under the door.
"Oh hell no."
Another sniff.
Then a quiet, excited growl.
Muffled voice outside:
"…He's in there."
My soul leaves my body.
Another voice—no, that's still her—more eager now:
"I can smell him."
I clutch the wispette like a tiny glowing stress ball.
"Mira would've killed me quickly," I whisper. "This one might just drag me off into the woods and bury me in a shallow emotional grave."
The doorknob wiggles.
WIGGLES.
I panic.
You panic.
The system panics.
Everything spirals downhill.
Wait.
A wolf… girl.
Isn't that every teen's must-see, must-date, must-have, must-wife-up dream?
A wolf girl.
At my door.
Sniffing for me.
Me.
My brain short-circuits.
I stand up.
I stand up.
I ignore the trembling wispette clinging to my shirt like a glowing brooch of pure terror.
I muster every atom, molecule, electron, and illusion of confidence in my pathetic human body.
Suave 101.
Cool.
Collected.
Chill.
So cool I am cold.
So cold, it makes the dead shiver.
I inhale.
Square my shoulders.
Walk to the door like I'm walking to my destiny.
Hand on the knob.
I pull it open just enough to slide my head out and deliver the perfect first impression—
"Hi—"
I don't finish.
Because the moment the door cracks open—
A face lunges at me.
A very pretty face, yes.
But also a face with sharp canines, golden eyes, wolf ears perked so high they're practically vibrating, and a tail thumping excitedly behind her like a fluffy jackhammer.
She is inches from me.
Maybe less.
Her nose is practically pressed to my cheek.
She inhales.
Deeply.
"Oh!" she breathes, eyes shining. "You are human!"
I blink.
She beams.
"I found you!"
I blink harder.
She leans in even closer—physically impossible, but she does it anyway—and sniffs my neck like she just opened her favorite brand-new scent.
"You smell like… warm. And panic."
Her eyes soften, tail wagging like mad.
"That's a nice combination."
My brain:
ERROR. SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN.
The system:
⸻
[WARNING: HOST HEART RATE SPIKING]
[WARNING: WOLF-SPIRIT AURA RISING]
[Warning: She Likes You]
⸻
Fenn (presumably Fenn, definitely Fenn) tilts her head adorably.
Then she asks the single most dangerous question I have faced today:
"Are you my new roommate?"
I freeze so hard I might as well be taxidermied.
Behind her, two other spirits in the hall stop walking and stare.
Behind me, the wispette burrows into my shirt.
My mouth opens.
A sound comes out.
Not a word.
A sound.
"Eh—?"
Fenn beams brighter.
Somewhere down the hallway, I swear a dramatic soundtrack starts playing.
Fenn freezes mid-lean like someone hit her with a pause button.
My hands are on her shoulders—gentle, but firm—holding her at arm's length before her face gets any closer to mine and my soul commits a federal crime.
"WAIT!"
Her ears twitch.
I swallow.
"That was… dangerous," I manage. "You are—uh—too cute. Too pretty. I am tempted. You staying here is a NO GO."
Her tail, which had been thumping happily, pauses mid-wag.
She blinks at me.
Slowly.
Like a puppy that just had its entire worldview rewritten.
I raise my palms slightly, trying to soften my tone.
"Sorry, let's start again. What's your name?"
The shift in her expression is instant.
Her eyes widen—then soften.
Her ears perk, her tail resumes wagging (faster this time), and her cheeks flush with a faint warmth that makes every inch of my sanity whimper.
"M-my…?" she whispers.
Then she straightens her back, places a fist over her chest, clears her throat, and introduces herself like someone reciting sacred wolf-spirit tradition:
"Fenriselle."
A breath.
Then, softer, "But you can call me Fenn."
Her tail wags harder.
And then she leans closer again—only half an inch this time, but still too close for human safety.
"You smell human," she says dreamily. "I like that."
The system vibrates violently.
⸻
[ALERT: SPIRIT-WOLF IMPRINT RISK]
[ALERT: PLEASE STOP SMELLING LIKE A HUMAN]
[ERROR: THAT IS NOT A FIXABLE ISSUE]
⸻
Fenn tilts her head, gaze locked onto mine like a predator staring at the world's shyest prey.
"So…" she asks, hopeful, "you're new here, right?"
"I am… well… my situation is complicated," I tell her, trying for a wry tone but landing somewhere between awkward tour guide and man about to flee the country.
Fenn's ears tilt. Her tail slows. Her eyes go soft and curious.
Uh-oh.
Time to bail.
"Anyway, it was nice knowing you," I blurt—fast, too fast, Olympic-level-sprint fast. "I went through a lot of things here and there, you know?"
Her ears twitch again, like she's trying to decode my nonsense.
I start edging backward, burying half my face behind the door.
"Oh look, Mira!"
Fenn visibly panics, tail poofing.
"M-Mira? Here!?" she squeaks, taking a full step back like she just got hit with holy water.
Bless Mira.
Bless her terrifying aura.
Bless her for being a walking wolf-repellent.
I shut the door.
Click.
…
Is there a lock?
I pat around blindly.
There is no lock.
WHY IS THERE NO LOCK.
WHO DESIGNED THIS.
The system appears, unhelpfully:
⸻
[Containment Dorms Do Not Utilize Locks]
[Reason: Students Often Phase Through Them Anyway]
⸻
"Great," I whisper. "Fantastic. Amazing."
I back away from the door as if expecting it to explode inward at any second.
Because—
Fenn was cute.
Adorable.
A wolf-spirit dream girl with soft ears, big eyes, and enough instinct to eat my face off if she thought it meant bonding.
And she definitely sniffed me like I was a snack.
I clutch my chest.
"I might just die on the street if she gets hungry," I mutter. "Maybe she's planning to keep me as a snack!?"
The system coughs.
⸻
[Clarification: Wolf-Spirit Imprinting Does Not Involve Eating the Host]
[Clarification 2: …Usually.]
⸻
"EXACTLY WHAT I DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW!"
I flop backward onto the bed.
The bed sighs again.
Fenn's footsteps pause outside the door.
A sniff.
Another sniff.
"I'll… see you later…" she says softly, voice muffled but way too close.
Then—
light footsteps fading down the hall.
She's gone.
For now.
Which means you're alive.
For now.
The room settles.
I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. I take a pause and collect myself.
The room is barely settling when I break the silence with the most dangerous words known to any RPG-adjacent universe:
"Hey, system. Let's get back to it, shall we? Do you have something like a gacha?"
The system freezes.
Absolutely freezes.
Like I just asked it to commit tax fraud in public.
Blue text flickers as if it's sweating.
⸻
[Processing Question…]
[Warning: The Host Has Uttered A Forbidden Phrase]
[Re-evaluating Safety Protocols]
[…OH NO.]
⸻
"Oh no?" I echo. "What do you mean oh no?"
The interface trembles.
⸻
[To Clarify: The HAUNT OS does possess a randomized acquisition module.]
[However—]
[—It is unstable.]
[—It is untested.]
[—It is fueled by emotional despair.]
[—And the last time it was used, a student received a chair with teeth.]
⸻
I sit straight up.
"A CHAIR WITH TEETH!?"
⸻
[Correct. The Chair Bit Back.]
⸻
I stare at the floating text.
The text stares back.
Or it feels like it does.
"So…" I say slowly, "is this gacha dangerous?"
The system hesitates.
⸻
[Statistically: Yes.]
[Spiritually: Yes.]
[Emotionally: Very Yes.]
[But—]
[It can be activated with Haunt Points.]
⸻
My heart skips.
I lean forward.
"Are the rewards good?"
⸻
[Extremely.]
⸻
I narrow my eyes.
"Are the punishments bad?"
⸻
[Catastrophic.]
⸻
I'm quiet for a moment.
Then—
I whisper:
"…So it's a REAL gacha."
The system groans like it wishes it could leave this room and reincarnate into something less stressful.
⸻
[If You Wish To Proceed, Say: "INITIATE HAUNT GACHA."]
[Cost: 1 Haunt Point]
[Warning: Outcomes May Vary From 'Useful Skill Upgrade' To 'Unexplained Entity Appears In Your Room.']
⸻
I rub my chin like a man contemplating the secrets of the universe… or at least the secrets of not dying.
"Interesting," I mutter. "But I want to recover some features. Maybe a map?"
The system reacts as if I just asked it to lift a car with emotional support alone.
A flicker.
A stutter.
A digital sigh.
⸻
[Request: MAP]
[Checking Available Modules…]
[Haunt OS Map Function: DISABLED]
[Reason: Host Is Not Dead]
⸻
"…What does me being alive have to do with my ability to know where the bathroom is?"
⸻
[Map Data Is Tied To Echo-Residue Tracking.]
[Host Possesses Zero Echo-Residue.]
[Therefore Host Cannot Be Tracked.]
[Therefore Map Cannot Load.]
⸻
"Okay but maybe—maybe—you could load a tiny map? A doodle? A napkin drawing? A compass? A stick figure pointing somewhere?"
The system sputters like it wants to lie but isn't good at it.
⸻
[Emergency Workaround Mode Engaged.]
[Compiling Improvised Navigation Tool…]
⸻
Sparks of blue static cluster in front of your face.
They swirl.
Glitch.
Jolt.
Shift shape—
—into something that looks like a tiny, melted, ghost-shaped… blob?
It flops in midair.
Groans.
Then turns toward the door and squeaks weakly.
⸻
[Congratulations! Temporary Navigation Assistant Unlocked!]
[Designation: "Wisp-Navi (Scuffed)"]
[Duration: 20 Minutes]
[Function: Points Toward Nearby Facilities]
[Warning: May Panic And Get Lost]
⸻
"Wisp…" I repeat, staring at the pathetic creature. "…Navi."
The Wisp-Navi jiggles in shame.
I sigh, long and tired.
"Well. It's not a map. But it's something."
The system puffs itself up proudly.
⸻
[Cost: 1 Haunt Point Deducted.]
[Current Haunt Points: 1]
⸻
One point left.
A panicking orb is now your guide.
I clear my throat.
"Can I call it whenever I need it?"
The system makes a noise like a fax machine being strangled.
A flicker.
A glitch.
A full-screen NO energy.
Then the window pops up:
⸻
[Clarification: Wisp-Navi Is Not A Permanent Feature]
[It Is A Temporary "Emergency Hack"]
[Host May Summon A New One Only By Paying Another Haunt Point]
[Reminder: You Now Have… 1]
⸻
"ONE?" I snap. "I had THREE!"
⸻
[Correct.]
[Then You Spent One Catching A Spirit, Then Another Demanding A Map.]
⸻
The Wisp-Navi trembles like it feels personally responsible.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
"So basically," I say, "I can call it again only if I buy a new one. With the last point keeping me barely alive."
The system chimes.
⸻
[Affirmative.]
[Also: Please Stop Threatening The Assistant. It Is Emotionally Unstable.]
⸻
The Wisp-Navi gives a depressed squeak.
Great.
Wonderful.
I'm stuck with a sad balloon animal and one last life-token.
The dorm creaks.
The bed sighs.
Something scuttles behind the wall like it's reconsidering being alive too.
Okay.
I exhale.
"So… what can I do with my last Haunt Point that won't kill me?"
The Wisp-Navi looks up at you with glistening eyes, awaiting orders.
I stare at the last line of the system window.
At the single, lonely Haunt Point left in my metaphorical bank account.
At Wisp-Navi, who is hovering there like an overworked intern waiting to be fired.
God.
I really spent carelessly.
That was so stupid of me.
My head thunks back into my hands.
"I am too tired to go out now," I mutter, lifting my gaze toward the trembling ball of light. "Whisp-Navi…"
It flinches.
Like a puppy that expects to be told the divorce is its fault.
"You are dismissed."
It gives a tiny sound—
like a sparkler dying on New Year's—
and poofs gently out of existence, leaving a faint trail of glittering dust.
The system offers a polite, slightly judgmental note:
⸻
[Wisp-Navi Has Returned To The System Cache]
[It Is Relieved]
⸻
"Good for it," I grumble.
Then I drag myself toward the bed.
The bed sighs again the moment I sit, like it's ready to complain about my emotional baggage.
"I am sleeping," I announce flatly.
No nightmares.
No thoughts.
No fear of wolf-girls or Echo monsters or reapers.
Just exhaustion steamrolling everything.
I collapse back—
I didn't even notice the wispette escape me. But, no bother. Another nuisance gotten rid of.
My thoughts swivel downward like a wormhole sucking the light of all my remaining energy.
—and sleep takes me instantly.
Dark, heavy, absolute.