A young man with vacant golden eyes sat on the edge of a rooftop garden, forty stories above the city's commercial district. In his hands was a glass of tea he'd made from scratch. When he took a measured sip, his expression remained completely neutral despite the aggressive bitterness.
"This is a failure," he muttered to no one in particular.
It was a failure because the flavor was uneven—the steeping time was off, the leaves were low-grade, and the water temperature had dropped enough to ruin whatever potential the brew had. A small mistake, but enough to irritate him.
The view from up here was decent, at least. Clean streets, well-dressed citizens going about their morning routines, and an orderly sort of civilization that felt artificial in its own order. Kiyotaka watched them with a detached interest. It was like observing ants in a colony; fascinating in an abstract way, but ultimately inconsequential.
His apartment building wasn't in the slums, but it wasn't exactly high-class either. Middle-tier housing for middle-tier citizens, it was anonymous and unremarkable. Just perfect, really. After the calls from his family stopped coming and they left the city for "business" that would apparently take months, he found a comfort in the solitude.
He wasn't held by expectations nor watchful eyes, after all. Just freedom.
He finished the tea without ceremony and stood, stretching slightly. His body moved with an unusual sharpness. Years of self-directed training had left their mark, even if most people would never notice it beneath his cultivated aura of mediocrity. Still, he lacked his usual sharpness today.
The problem, of course, was this strange fatigue.
It had started three days ago. A persistent drowsiness that no amount of caffeine or willpower seemed to completely dispel. He'd noticed it immediately. His body didn't just get tired without reason. Everything followed a cause-and-effect pattern, and this particular effect pointed to only one logical cause he could think of.
The Nightmare Spell.
It was a term for a strange affliction that first appeared in this world decades ago, back when the planet was still recovering from a chain of catastrophic natural disasters, followed by the resource wars that erupted afterward.
The emergence of an illness that made millions feel constantly tired and drowsy barely drew attention at first, but when people began slipping into an unnatural sleep—showing no signs of waking even after days—that's when governments began to panic.
By then, of course, it was already too late. Even a swift response probably wouldn't have changed much.
When the infected began dying in their sleep and their bodies twisting into monsters, no one was prepared. The Nightmare Creatures tore through national military forces with ease, plunging the world into chaos.
No one really knew what the Spell was, what it could do, or how to fight it.
In the end, only the Awakened—those who survived the Spell's first trial and came back alive—managed to stop its rampage. The extraordinary abilities they gained from the Nightmare let them restore peace and rebuild order, though that peace remained fragile at best.
That was just the first disaster in a long chain brought by the Spell. As far as Kiyotaka was concerned, none of it had anything to do with him—at least not until a few days ago, when staying awake started to feel impossible.
For ordinary people, being chosen by the Spell could be catastrophic... or an opportunity. Schools taught children survival skills and combat techniques, just in case. Wealthy families hired private instructors to train their kids in every kind of martial art imaginable.
Meanwhile, those from Awakened clans had access to inherited powers—Memory and Echo—that they could use on their first visit to the Dream Realm. The richer your family, the higher your chances of surviving and becoming an Awakened.
Kiyotaka had a past that put him above everyone else in that regard. But that was the past. After a series of events he had no interest in explaining, he was now just an ordinary guy aiming for an ordinary life.
"How inconvenient," he said dryly as he walked toward the rooftop access door.
Just when he finally managed to achieve something close to a normal life, the world decided to toss him into a supernatural death lottery.
He descended the stairs at a leisurely pace, noting how his limbs felt heavier than they should. The Spell was accelerating. He probably had less than a day before he'd lose consciousness entirely.
While most people would be terrified, panicking, or desperately reaching out to family, friends, anyone who could offer comfort or last-minute survival advice, Kiyotaka felt nothing but mild irritation at the disruption to his routine.
The walk to the nearest Awakened Response Center took twenty minutes. He could have called ahead, but there seemed to be something appropriately amusing about walking through the doors of your own volition, announcing your impending transformation into either a superhuman warrior or a spawn point for eldritch horrors.
The building was modern, all sleek glass and steel, very much the type of place where life-or-death situations were handled on a daily basis. A few people sat in the waiting area, their expressions ranging from anxious to resigned, all showing the telltale signs of Spell infection.
He approached the front desk where a middle-aged woman with tired eyes was processing paperwork.
"I'm infected," he said simply. "Symptoms started three days ago. I estimate I have between six to eight hours of consciousness remaining."
The woman's fingers froze over her keyboard. Her eyes snapped up, scanning his face for panic, denial—anything.
She found nothing.
"...You're very calm about this," she said carefully, reaching for what was probably an emergency alert button.
"I'm actually terrified," Kiyotaka lied in the same flat tone. "I assume you'll need to verify my symptoms and check me into quarantine. Should I wait here, or is there a designated area for someone like me?"
For a moment, the woman just stared at him. Then she pressed the button.
"Please remain where you are, sir. Medical staff will be with you shortly."
"Alright."
He sat down in one of the waiting area chairs, folding his hands in his lap. Around him, other infected people shot him curious glances.
Kiyotaka ignored them all, his mind already running through probability calculations.
The survival rate for First Nightmares varied wildly based on preparation, natural aptitude, and pure luck. His "family" had provided certain advantages during his childhood—training that most people never received, knowledge that wasn't taught in standard schools, an understanding of how to break down complex problems into manageable variables.
But those advantages had vanished along with them, leaving him to fend for himself in a world he was technically prepared for but emotionally disconnected from.
Would that be enough? Statistically speaking, it should be—even without them.
He'd already trained everything a normal human could train: physical conditioning, reaction time, mental discipline, sensory awareness. Nothing supernatural—just fundamentals sharpened to the limit through repetition and efficiency. And even if he never expected to be chosen by the Spell, he wasn't naive enough to dismiss the possibility. Preparation didn't guarantee survival, but it improved the odds. So he prepared for the worst while quietly hoping for the best.
Let's hope the Nightmare doesn't hinge on variables I can't measure...
If the Spell decides to base survival on pure chance, he wasn't counting on walking away unscathed.
A medical team emerged from the back corridor—three personnel in reinforced gear, moving with practiced urgency that suggested they'd done this many times before. The leader, a tall woman with silver hair and sharp features, approached him directly.
"Kiyotaka?" She read from a tablet. "Age sixteen, no registered family contacts in the city, formal standard Awakened training on record..." She looked up, her expression somewhere between professional concern and analytical interest. "You reported yourself voluntarily?"
"Isn't that the procedure?" Kiyotaka gave her a mildly confused look. "Also, it seemed more practical than collapsing in my apartment and eventually forcing someone to break down the door."
"I see." She gestured toward the corridor. "Come with us. We need to get you into containment before you lose consciousness."
"Alright."
As he stood, he immediately noticed how the medical team kept a careful distance—close enough to intervene in an emergency, but far enough to avoid potential contamination. As if the Spell could be avoided with proper social distancing.
The containment room was exactly what he'd expected: reinforced walls, a medical bed with extensive restraints, monitoring equipment covering every surface. It was very thorough. Paranoid, even, but understandably so.
"This is where I'll be?" he asked as they guided him toward the bed. "The restraints seem excessive. If I'm already in the Nightmare, my physical body won't exactly be thrashing around, will it?"
The silver-haired woman began attaching monitoring sensors to his chest and temples. "The restraints aren't for the Nightmare. They're for what happens if you fail and something comes through in your place."
"Ah. Yes, that would be problematic."
"You're taking this very well."
"Would you prefer I scream and cry?" Kiyotaka settled into the bed, experimentally testing the restraints. It had solid construction. He probably couldn't break them even at full strength. "I've always found that accepting inevitable situations leads to better decision-making than denying them."
The woman paused in her work, studying his face with a surprising intensity. "You're not afraid at all?"
He considered the question seriously. Fear was supposed to be a survival mechanism—an emotional response designed to heighten awareness and prompt action in dangerous situations. Everyone had it, including him.
"Of course I am," he said. "I'm just bad at expressing it."
"I see," she replied, though she clearly didn't believe him. "I'm Dr. Saito, Senior Containment Specialist. I'll be monitoring your vitals during the transition." She finished attaching the last sensor and stepped back. "Do you have anyone you want us to contact? Family? Friends?"
"My family is out of the city. I don't have any way to reach them right now. My phone's in the apartment." The lie slipped out easily. Truth was, he could give them the contacts if he wanted to. He simply chose not to. "As for friends... unfortunately, I don't have any."
Dr. Saito's expression softened into something like a frown. "Well then... let me give you the standard briefing."
Kiyotaka fought back a yawn. The drowsiness was intensifying. "I'm familiar with the basics. First Nightmare, trial by combat or something similar, survive to become Awakened or die and spawn a Nightmare Creature. Am I missing anything crucial?"
"The basics, no. But there are details that might improve your survival odds." She pulled up a holographic display. "Your Aspect will be generated based on your innate nature and the choices you make during the Nightmare. Some are combat-oriented, some are utility-based, some are purely supportive. There's no way to predict what you'll receive."
"I'm aware of that too." His eyelids were getting heavier. "Anything else?"
"One more thing," Dr. Saito said, her voice sounding like it was coming from very far away. "The people you meet in the Nightmare—they're not real. The Spell creates them as part of the trial. Don't let emotional attachment compromise your survival."
Kiyotaka wanted to laugh at that but couldn't quite manage it through the encroaching darkness. Emotional attachment? As if that had ever been one of his problems.
"Understood," he murmured. "Kill the illusions. Survive the trial. Become something more than human or die trying. Any other advice?"
"Actually, yes." Dr. Saito's voice was fading, drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears. "The First Nightmare is designed to be possible. Difficult, but possible. Don't give up just because the situation seems hopeless. The Spell wants you to survive. It needs you to survive."
"How considerate of it..."
That was the last thing he managed to say before his consciousness slipped away entirely and everything went black.
In the darkness—utterly indifferent to human concepts of mercy or justice—a voice spoke:
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial...]
***
A/N: This crossover has been sitting in my head for a long time. In some ways, it's even harder to write than The Apprentice, simply because the original story hasn't ended yet.
The part that kept holding me back was Kiyotaka's First Nightmare. I already figured out his background, his source of power, the progression until Supremation, and the great divergence—which is basically my term for how far this version strays from canon—but the First Nightmare itself was still a blank spot.
Since this is a crossover, you can expect different character dynamics, major changes to the plot, and all that.
I considered putting him somewhere else for his journey through the Dream Realm (not Nightmare), but then I'd have to rethink how the trio gets introduced, and fuck that. I've already spent way too much time overthinking the First Nightmare's location, so I'm not changing it. Only the location stays the same, though. Everything else doesn't.
And if you caught my wording earlier—yes, Sunny is still here.
If you like Sunny... uh, well, you might not like me.
Just for the record, I don't hate him.
Him being constantly down bad for Nephis is kinda annoying, his sudden personality swings can be jarring, and the exposition dumps (which are mostly G3's fault) get repetitive, but overall, I don't dislike the guy. Really.
Words Count: 1,996