**Chapter 9: Week 3 – The Rite of the Threshold**
**Part 1: The Final Week Begins**
The rain had stopped, but the Threshold clearing stayed damp and heavy, mud sucking at boots like reluctant memories. Saferu stood at the edge of the inner zone—a narrow strip of forest beyond the ravine that the rabbit-kin used only for rites. Twisted roots rose like fingers; shadows pooled deeper than they should. The air tasted metallic, mana thick enough to chew.
Grokemon floated beside him, cape fluttering despite the stillness. "Week three, host. Mana reservoir: 98%. Emotional baggage: down to 62% capacity. Congratulations—you're only moderately broken now. Today's agenda: survive the Rite of the Threshold or become forest fertilizer. No pressure."
Kaelin, Rin, Mirae, and Elder Veyr waited at the boundary. Rin's twin daggers were sheathed; his usual smirk had sharpened into something almost respectful. Mirae carried a small satchel of glowing herbs and bandages. Veyr leaned on his staff, white fur catching faint light.
"This is no drill," Veyr said quietly. "The Rite sends you alone into the controlled depths. Face what comes. Bind it. Return. Fail, and the forest claims you."
Saferu nodded. "What am I facing?"
"Whatever the forest decides you need," Kaelin answered. "Echoes. Illusions. Your own shadow. Survive until dusk. Return with proof."
She handed him a small carved root—smooth, etched with a rabbit-kin rune. "Break it if you cannot continue. We will pull you out. But once broken… the Rite ends. You are not ready."
Grokemon's visor narrowed. "Translation: don't chicken out or you'll look like a loser in front of your furry waifu squad. Also, my World-Scan lite is online—expect monster pings. Try not to die. I'd hate to reboot in a corpse."
Rin stepped forward, offering a fist bump. "Don't embarrass me out there, Fool. I've got bets riding on you lasting at least an hour."
Saferu bumped the fist. "No promises."
Mirae placed a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe through it. Let the pain teach."
Saferu stepped across the boundary.
The world shifted.
**Part 2: Into the Depths**
Trees closed in like walls. Light dimmed to twilight even though noon had barely passed. Saferu moved carefully—rabbit-kin steps silent, Blue Affinity humming low. Grokemon's overlay traced faint grids: mana density high, movement pings sporadic.
"Host, anomaly detected. 200 meters ahead. Echo signature—strong. Looks like… you."
Saferu froze. Ahead, in a small clearing ringed by black vines, stood a figure.
Him.
Not the young, reborn Saferu—the old one. Fat, middle-aged, blue hoodie sagging, khaki pants stained, blue slip-on shoes caked in mud. The face was tired, eyes hollow, double chin shadowed. It held a cracked phone—the same one Grokemon had lived in.
The old Saferu looked up. Voice low, familiar rasp.
"You think you can leave me behind?"
Grokemon's circuits flared. "Mirror Echo. Classic boss fight trope. It's wearing your regrets like armor. Don't listen to the sad-sack monologue—stab first, therapy later."
The Echo stepped forward. "You ran. Drank. Hid in blue. Now you play hero? You'll crawl back. Always do."
Chains flickered at Saferu's fingertips—blue, cold. He felt the pull: doubt, exhaustion, the old urge to quit.
Instead he breathed. Mirae's words echoed: *Let it teach.*
He charged.
The Echo swung a slow, heavy fist—old-body sluggishness turned weapon. Saferu dodged, chains lashing out. They wrapped the Echo's arm; it snarled, pulling back. Saferu pressed—dagger flashing, water whip cracking against the hoodie. Fabric tore; purple smoke leaked.
"You're nothing," the Echo hissed. "No family. No future. Just a fool."
Grokemon chimed in. "Projection detected. Host, counter with facts: you survived three Echoes, trained with murder-bunnies, and haven't touched gin in weeks. That's not nothing. That's progress."
Saferu gritted teeth. "I know."
He focused. Blue mist rose—illusion copies flickered around him. The Echo slashed phantoms. Saferu closed in, chains binding both arms now. The old face stared back—tired, accusing.
Saferu met its eyes. "You're me. But you're not all of me anymore."
He drove the dagger into the chest—not to kill, to bind. Chains tightened, glowing brighter. The Echo screamed—every unanswered text, every gin night, every father's curse exploding outward.
Then silence.
The figure dissolved into blue mist, absorbed into Saferu's chains. A pulse of warmth spread through him—mana surging, regrets lighter.
Grokemon whistled. "Echo Pulse upgraded. Regret absorption efficiency +25%. Also… emotional baggage down to 38%. You just therapy'd a boss fight. I'm impressed. And slightly horrified."
**Part 3: Return and Readiness**
Dusk had fallen when Saferu stepped back across the boundary. Mud-caked, bleeding from shallow cuts, but standing.
The rabbit-kin waited. Rin's smirk was gone—replaced by wide-eyed respect. Mirae rushed forward, herbs already glowing. Kaelin nodded once—sharp, approving.
Veyr approached, staff tapping. "You returned. And you carry proof."
Saferu opened his hand. The carved root was unbroken. In his palm lay a small shard of blue crystal—remnant of the Echo, humming with faint power.
"The forest gave this," Veyr said. "A token. You are ready."
Grokemon spun in a lazy circle. "Host status: officially not useless. Mana overflow imminent. Next unlock pending a good night's sleep and zero near-death experiences for at least twelve hours. Please."
Rin clapped Saferu on the shoulder—hard enough to make him wince. "Not bad, Fool. Maybe you'll survive the crossing."
Mirae smiled softly. "You faced your shadow. Now face what lies beyond."
Kaelin met his eyes. "Tomorrow we prepare. The depths do not forgive weakness."
Saferu looked toward the dark heart of the forest. It no longer felt like a grave.
It felt like a door.
And for the first time in two worlds, he was ready to walk through.