At eight o'clock on a Friday night, right as the working stiffs of the city finally dragged themselves home, the night sky over Arc City was already dyed a suggestive pink-violet by the neon signs.
On the giant screens along the shopping street, promotional ads fought for attention, and the bubble tea shops were packed with customers waiting for their orders.
No one knew that in three minutes, humanity's fate would swerve by an almost imperceptible—yet enormous—degree.
miHoYo Studio's official account pushed out an update simultaneously across every platform.
No teaser, no countdown poster, no buildup of any kind.
Honkai Impact 3rd's official livestream room went live, titled: Ordinal Scale — Live Gameplay Demonstration.
The moment the first frame appeared, the danmaku lost it.
It was real footage, captured live through the camera of an AR headset, showing actual Arc City.
A bronze statue stood in the square on the right side of the frame, and in the background, the sign of that hot-and-sour noodle shop with its perpetual line was clearly visible.
Suddenly, a gray-white arm swept past the edge of the shot, and a few crude UI elements popped up in the upper left corner of the screen:
A white health bar, a green stamina gauge, and a text box labeled 'LV.1 Scythe Zombie.'
The danmaku flooded in almost instantly.
"Holy crap, they really just went live without warning?"
"miHoYo, you really don't care about marketing budgets, huh!"
"AR? Live gameplay? Am I watching some sci-fi movie?"
On screen, Kiana Kaslana paid the danmaku no mind.
She flicked her wrist, white hair swaying at the edge of the frame, and charged at the Zombie crouched at the mouth of the alley.
Her movements were economical—a turn of the body, a drop of the shoulder, and a clean upward slash of her right arm.
In the AR viewfinder, a translucent blade extended out from the unremarkable metal hilt in her hand, tracing a pale blue arc of light through the air.
The strike caught the Zombie's head. Its health bar dropped to zero instantly, and it dissolved into scattering purple data shards.
The danmaku exploded.
"Wait! That hit feedback! That impact! If you told me this was CG, I'd believe you!"
"Real-time rendering! It has to be real-time rendering!"
"Look at the ground under Kiana's feet! The steps are reflecting light! This is a real location, guys!"
The footage kept rolling.
Kiana ran across the square.
Passersby on the street walked by, unbothered.
Clearly, in their eyes, this white-haired girl was just performing some inexplicable, baffling behavior at thin air.
A Chariot clung to the edge of a flower bed with all four limbs, its purple-black carapace giving off a greasy sheen under the sunlight.
An orange health bar floated above its head, labeled 'Elite · Chariot · LV.12.'
Kiana didn't charge in blindly.
She crouched low, moving swiftly between the newsstand and the benches at the edge of the square.
The AR camera caught a few passersby nearby, holding their bubble teas and watching her.
To them, the white-haired girl was just jogging in circles around the empty edge of the square, waving some kind of handle around and striking fighting poses at nothing.
"My heart aches for Little Junior Sister Kiana, gone mad so young."
"Hahaha, the bystanders be like: pretty girl, shame about the brain."
A purple energy bolt suddenly shot out from the direction of the Chariot.
To ordinary eyes, it was just the empty north side of the square, but on Kiana's display, a precise red warning circle had already projected the bolt's landing point onto the ground.
She pushed off with her left foot and rolled right; the energy bolt grazed her shoulder and slammed into the edge of the steps behind her, bursting into a bloom of data fragments visible only to her.
"She dodged it!"
"Is she really out here outsmarting thin air?"
Kiana flipped back onto her feet, her left hand flicking rapidly across the weapon wheel on the holographic interface.
The wheel stopped on 'Pulse Dagger: Subspace Shadow,' and a familiar vibration ran through the metal hilt.
She stopped dodging and charged the Chariot head-on, using the momentum to leap up, gripping the daggers reverse-handed, and chopping down into the back of its neck.
Its health bar hit zero.
The monster burst into scattering purple data shards, and at the center of the burst, a shining gold coin popped out, spinning as it dropped into her holographic inventory slot.
"???"
"A gold coin? You can pick that up?"
"miHoYo, don't tell me you're planning to…"
Amid the sea of question marks flooding the screen, a pink glow descended into the center of the frame.
The holographic guide 'Fairy Ellie' made her sparkling entrance!
She was barely the size of a palm, but every detail was rendered with exquisite precision, as lifelike as a fairy perched on a fingertip.
"Hiii, everyone, good evening~ I'm your holographic guide, Elf Elysia—but you can just call me 'Fairy Ellie.'"
"Don't be shocked—what dropped when Kiana just took down that Chariot monster wasn't a special effect~"
Her translucent wings fluttered gently, stirring up little ripples of data light.
"Gold coins dropped from monsters can be cashed out directly, 1:1."
"That's right, exactly what you're thinking—play the game in real life, earn real money in real life. The shop system is live too; you can use gold coins to upgrade both gear and skills."
The danmaku went dead silent for three seconds, then erupted like a volcano.
"1:1 cash out??? Did I hear that right???"
"Holy crap, playing a game to earn money?!"
"This broke dog is ecstatic!!!"
"Wait, isn't this basically a job in disguise? Why are you all so hyped!"
People started doing frantic math: how many coins a Chariot monster drops, how many could be killed in ten minutes, how much that could add up to in a month.
A few more level-headed voices timidly piped up in the corner:
"But… doesn't this AR gameplay burn a ton of stamina? Just watching Kiana do that little bit already wore me out!"
Ellie looked like she'd been waiting for exactly that comment.
She tilted her tiny head, pressed her hands together, and her smile deepened with an indescribable knowingness.
"Hehe, our smart players have already caught on~ That's exactly the second thing Fairy Ellie wants to talk about~"
"Ordinal Scale asks a little something extra of its players compared to traditional games."
"Besides your in-game account level, your real physical fitness matters just as much. Footwork, stamina, Reaction Speed—every advantage you have in real life converts directly into combat power in the game."
"Even with a low account level, as long as you're fast enough and have the stamina, killer mechanics alone can let you solo enemies way above your level~"
"So, kids who are good at sports are in luck~"
The whole screen of danmaku froze for a beat, then was drowned in wave after wave of wailing.
"I can't run! This dead-otaku is done for!!"
"This college student rents a bike share just to reach the cafeteria! And you want me to swing a sword at monsters?!"
"This beta slot is basically wasted on me, might as well pack it in."
Just as the screen filled with laments, one comment drifted slowly across the top, dripping with the kind of arrogance that made teeth itch.
"This one's mine. Athletic student—I can do a thousand meters in under two and a half minutes. Sequence One is mine. —ID: Jiahao"
The stream went quiet for a fraction of a second.
Then the entire danmaku pool exploded like oil poured on a hot pan.
"????"
"Jiahao, who do you think you are!!!"
"Two and a half minutes for a thousand meters, are you teleporting?"
"Beast!!!"
"Death to jocks!!!"
"Guys, report his account! The competition hasn't even started and he's already crushing the seeded players at the sign-up stage!"
"Hahaha I'm dying, the danmaku is more entertaining than the game itself!"
Fairy Ellie raised a tiny hand to cover her mouth.
She spun gracefully in midair, her translucent wings shedding a trail of shimmering data-sparks, then swept a fingertip through the air and summoned a ring-shaped data screen floating behind her.
"Okay, okay, everyone, let's not rush to judge Classmate Jiahao just yet~ Look over here—"
She tapped her fingertip, and dense clusters of sub-health statistics appeared on the screen, each entry marked with an alarming percentage.
"These are the most common side effects of not exercising among young people today. Lower back strain, worsening nearsightedness, forward neck posture—scary, right?"
She pushed the data panel aside and leaned back toward the camera, her voice soft but impossible to ignore.
"So, Fairy Ellie is here to tell you: Ordinal Scale isn't just a game. What we want is to truly combine AR technology with fitness and health."
"AR meets wellness, life lies in movement—that's the true secret of the Ordinal Scale!"
"Damn, that pivot to 'meaningful message' came out of nowhere, but somehow I'm convinced!"
"So is this a game or a fitness app?!"
"miHoYo: We're a game company. We're also a gym."
"Wait, none of you have figured out the real point yet—if this game runs on physical fitness and has leaderboard rewards, what exactly are the Sequence Rankings rewards?!"
"Right, right! Rewards! The leaderboard has to give out something real!"
A flicker of amusement crossed Ellie's eyes, and she tapped the bottom right corner of the screen.
"Everyone, hold on to your seats—"
A brand-new announcement panel popped up on screen.
The words 'Arc City Sequence Top 100 · Settlement Rewards' burst forward, and the panel unfurled line by line.
Participation prize: a limited-edition exclusive cosmetic item, and a server-wide commemorative avatar frame.
Every entry that scrolled by drove the danmaku density up another notch.
Top 1,000: an out-of-print in-game weapon skin, 'Light of the Sequence,' with a permanent experience-boost badge attached.
Top 100: a server-wide scrolling congratulations announcement, and the one-of-a-kind glowing title 'Top 100 of Arc City,' permanently displayed above your character's ID.
10th place to 2nd place.
The reward column read: a supercar.
The danmaku pool went quiet.
First place.
The text that scrolled out for the reward hung above the stream, every character outlined in pale gold holographic light.
"Sponsored personally by superstar Eden: one luxury full-floor apartment in the heart of Arc City (or cash equivalent)."
The screen became unreadable, the danmaku now thick as a wall.
"?????"
"A house??? This game gives away a house?"
"Holy crap, can playing games actually change your life??"
"A house in the heart of Arc City???? How much would that even cost?"
"Mom, I'm starting to train running tomorrow!!!"
"Coach, I want to learn fighting!!!"
"That Jiahao guy from earlier, you just wait! I'm going to go buy spikes right now!"
Finally, Ellie produced a 'Skyward Eye' AR device, her expression turning unusually serious:
"Before everyone starts screaming, Fairy Ellie has something very important, and very serious, to say."
"All AR devices, from closed beta through open beta, must and can only be permanently bound to a player's existing, real-name-verified Honkai Impact 3rd account."
"One person, one account. If a device is separated from its originally bound account, all functions will automatically lock: no activation, no use, no trading."
She tapped a finger lightly in the air.
An enlarged binding flowchart appeared above the screen, marked in red text with the words 'Permanent Binding — Cannot Be Undone.'
"This rule exists for one purpose only."
"To make sure every AR slot ends up in the hands of a player who genuinely wants to experience the game."
"Any form of scalping or hoarding will be completely cut off—that's our promise to every player."
Of course, Su Yu had craftily left the actual binding rights unset—even if you won a slot, until it was actually bound, the AR eligibility was ownerless property.
But after that announcement, most people would assume the slot was bound to them the instant they won it.
The scarcity marketing needed a little engineering behind the scenes; even without real scalpers, 'scalpers' would naturally surface later to auction slots at outrageous prices, driving the hype even higher.
Just Su Yu's hidden hand at work behind the scenes.
The waves of "holy crap" hadn't even died down in the comments before an entirely different kind of exclamation surged in like a tide.
"Wait, so does that mean people who've never played Honkai Impact 3rd have to register first before they can even compete for a slot???"
"Damn! This old fox is using the Ordinal Scale to force-feed new players into Honkai Impact 3rd!!"
"miHoYo: You thought you were playing a new game? No, you just switched to a giant 3D login screen!"
"I don't have an account! I don't have one!!! Is it too late to make a Honkai Impact 3rd account right now!!"
"While you're all still talking about accounts, I've already installed Honkai Impact 3rd for the whole dorm. We're downstairs warming up right now, gunning for that Sequence slot—Jiahao? Wait for me!"
And all these chain reactions unfolded in a corner utterly beyond the reach of the countless players glued to their phones, screenshotting and analyzing the reward details.
In miHoYo's backend databases, something they knew nothing about was happening in total silence.
Every newly registered Honkai Impact 3rd account meant a real identity logged, a full set of address and movement data pinned down.
Thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of data streams wove themselves into an ever-expanding net inside encrypted servers no one could see.
And all of it was merely the first piece placed on a hidden hand of cards someone privately called 'the Great Migration.'
In front of miHoYo's monitoring screens, Su Yu watched the Emotion Points data and discussion heat scroll past at breakneck speed, then picked up a black, encrypted phone.
It was an encrypted call from a senior figure in Shenzhou's leadership.
The stern-faced old man who appeared in the holographic projection skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point—
"This plan is too large in scope, and official endorsement involves too many stakes. A slideshow alone won't make up our minds. You need to produce real, tangible test results."
Su Yu's answer was just as brief: five thousand people, ten days.
If the closed beta ended without a single riot or breakdown of order, Shenzhou would back the project with everything it had.
If it went wrong, he'd take full responsibility himself.
The old man fell silent for a moment, then finally said two words.
"Approved."
Before hanging up, he added one last thing: "If this closed beta proves the device truly delivers the national fitness research value you've promised, we'll clear the way with the Ministry of Culture and the sports bureau ahead of time."
After the call cut off, the light on the holographic screen slowly faded, leaving only the red digits pulsing on the wall.
Eighty-five days remained until the Honkai invasion.
Five thousand 'Skyward Eye' AR devices had already been packed through special channels overnight, now speeding through Arc City's delivery network.
The ten-day closed beta was about to begin.
In those dark eyes fixed on the flowing backend data, the fate of an entire city about to be stirred into a maelstrom was reflected.
The day before Ordinal Scale launched.
Dusk.
The dismissal bell at Arc City Experimental Middle School had rung twenty minutes ago.
The smell of grilled sausages and roasted sweet potatoes drifted near the school gate as clusters of students streamed out through the glass doors, backpacks bouncing on their shoulders.
The leaves of the crooked ginkgo tree by the road had started turning yellow, rustling down in the wind and sticking to the edges of unswept puddles near the gate.
The auntie selling jianbing flipped the batter with her spatula, oil sizzling and popping on the griddle.
Rin tucked a strand of hair that had fallen to her shoulder behind her ear, both hands hooked through her backpack straps, walking on her friend's left.
A little plush fox charm hung from her bag, swaying gently with each step.
Her friend walked on the right, scrolling through her phone while chewing the straw full of teeth marks, the lid of her bubble tea already poked with three separate holes.
"Seriously, has miHoYo lost it?"
Her friend's mouth was full of tapioca pearls, the words coming out muffled.
"Giving away a house? I'm serious, I looked it up—that place is right in the heart of Arc City, a luxury full-floor apartment. I did the math on the market price—even if I saved every cent since the year I was born, without eating or drinking, I still couldn't afford it."
"Do you think Su Yu really got his head slammed in a door or something?"
She let go of the straw and held her phone up right in front of Rin's face.
"Look, top trending, hashtag miHoYo Giving Away Houses."
"Even my mom reposted it, and you know what caption she used? 'Look at people who make games, then look at your Excel spreadsheets.'"
Rin's pupils widened faintly, then slowly settled back.
"It's probably… not fake, right? Miss Eden never jokes about this kind of thing."
"Oh, and how would you know that? You talk like you and Eden are old friends."
Her friend rolled her eyes and pulled the phone back to keep scrolling.
"Anyway, us mortals just need to keep our expectations low. I wheeze like a broken bellows just running eight hundred meters for PE, no way I'm playing some AR action game."
She held up her empty bubble tea cup, aiming it at a trash can three meters away.
"I saw a bunch of analysis posts saying the slots are probably rigged, just a gimmick for the big streamers."
"So what if a normal person gets picked? They still can't run, can't fight—they'd just be a stepping stone for those athlete gods with a beta slot in hand."
Rin didn't answer.
She walked beneath the darkening shade of the trees, the fox charm on her bag swinging gently with each step.
She slipped her fingers into the side pocket of her bag and fished out a card, warmed by her own thumb.
It was a miHoYo Studio business card that Su Yu had handed her sister Sakura a few days ago during a visit; Sakura had left it tucked at the edge of a bookshelf afterward, and Rin had quietly taken it and kept it safe.
"Is the person who brings my sister a coaster as a gift really the same person throwing money around like crazy online?"
She pressed the card gently back into the depths of the pocket without a word.
"Hey, Rin, look! There's a huge crowd up ahead!"
Her friend yanked at her sleeve so hard that Rin stumbled half a step.
East of the Experimental Middle School was a small plaza.
At this hour on a normal day, the plaza would only have two or three old men out for a stroll and a couple of kids drawing chalk pictures on the ground. Today, three thick rings of heads crowded around something.
A few brand-new machines stood at the center of the courtyard.
Above the machines hung a promotional banner packed with flashy effects, printed with a 3D projection of an AR headset, and next to it, in bold mech-style lettering, read—
"Ordinal Scale — Offline Eligibility Draw Station · Officially Designated Channel"
"Rin, don't you play Honkai Impact 3rd too? Go try the draw—what if you win?"
Rin was still digging through her bag for her phone when she got dragged in front of a machine.
Her friend stood on tiptoe half a step behind her, shoving a narrow gap through the crowd, clicking her tongue impatiently.
The line wasn't long, but everyone who scanned their code moved through quickly, the orange 'No Win' notice on the machine's screen flashing over and over.
Most people just shrugged after scanning, their faces showing no surprise.
Five thousand slots in a megacity of tens of millions—the odds really were about the same as buying a lottery ticket.
When it was Rin's turn, her friend flicked the charm on her bag from behind.
"Hurry up, hurry up! Your luck's always been insanely good—remember last PE class when you won rock-paper-scissors seven times in a row? If you don't win this, I'll eat the machine!"
Rin pulled up the Honkai Impact 3rd login screen on her phone and pressed her thumb against the familiar blue icon in the upper right corner.
A faint glow lit up the screen as she swiped it across the machine's sensor.
Beep—
The machine's screen went dark for a second, then burst into a blinding explosion of gold light!
Gold-red pulsing lights flashed wildly, the sound effect deafening:
"Congratulations, player [Tofu Puff Tofu Puff], you've won a spot in the first batch of Ordinal Scale closed beta testers!"
Her friend's grip on the bubble tea cup slipped.
The plastic cup hit the mall's polished marble floor with a dull crack, a few drops of leftover tea splashing onto her shoes. She didn't even look down.
She clamped both hands onto Rin's shoulders and started shaking her wildly.
"You won!! It's that one!! That game!!! You got it!!"
Rin's head spun from the shaking.
She stared at the golden letters still flashing on screen, feeling her heart skip a beat.
"…I know, just stop shaking me!"
Her friend didn't hear a word of it. She let go with one hand to grab her own phone and started frantically typing into a group chat, fingers clacking against the screen:
"Holy crap my bestie won a spot in that house-giveaway game!!!"
Her other hand was still pressed firmly on Rin's shoulder, like a streamer who'd just won a lottery draw on someone else's behalf.
Message sent, she rattled off one more thing at Rin.
"Rin! You've used up a lifetime's worth of luck on this!!! You're going to be rich!!!"
Rin tucked her phone back into her pocket, her gaze slowly drifting away from the screen.
She didn't respond.
She just quietly thought of one person.
Her sister. Sakura.
Her gaze crossed the mall's massive glass skylight, out to where the dusk sky was just being touched with the warm orange glow of the first streetlamp.
She thought of her sister, back in the day, training alone in the backyard with a wooden sword.
Rin wasn't much of a runner—she always barely scraped a passing grade on the eight-hundred-meter PE test—but a vivid image had already quietly formed in her mind.
Her sister, wearing that AR headset, standing in the streets of Arc City, weaving and slashing through a whole crowd of gaudy monsters.
"If I can't run… Sis could help me, right?"
The slightly cheating thought had barely surfaced in her mind before the corners of her mouth curved up, too quick to hide.
Beside her, her friend was still fumbling to pick up the spilled cup and toss it in the trash, then lunged back at her side, jabbing a finger at the phone screen and shouting in exasperation:
"Nobody in the group chat believes it! You need to send a screenshot! Take a selfie right now, this instant!"
Under her friend's urging, Rin was pulled into raising her phone, aiming the camera at her own faintly flushed face.
She thought about it for a moment, pressed her lips together, and finally hit the shutter.
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