Chapter 1: The Golden Glitch (Part 1)
The dawn over Keraniganj didn't break with the sun; it broke with the neon-blue flicker of the Stark-Senju Maglev lines overhead.
In this world, expanded ten thousand times its original size, Keraniganj was no longer a suburb—it was a sprawling industrial labyrinth. Massive "Logic Towers" designed by Wayne Enterprises loomed in the distance like stone titans, their surfaces etched with glowing circuitry that hummed a low-frequency tune. This was the "Background Noise" of a world where tech and magic were no longer separate entities, but a single, breathing machine.
Rimon stood on the narrow balcony of his apartment, leaning against a rusted railing that felt surprisingly solid. He was wearing a faded BU t-shirt, his hair a mess of "I don't care" waves. He looked like a typical, lazy university student, but his eyes were fixed on the Global Ticker—a holographic screen the size of a mountain, hovering over the Buriganga River.
> [GLOBAL TICKER: LIVE]
> JAPAN: Gojo Satoru (Tokyo Uni) – Level 198 (SSR) – Status: Dominant.
> MADAGASCAR: Ryuga – Entry Confirmed. Logic Type: Destructive.
>
"Look at these guys," Rimon muttered, popping a piece of cheap mint gum into his mouth. "Practicing their 'main character' poses while the rest of us are trying to find a maglev that isn't thirty minutes late. Ego-code is a hell of a drug."
"Mamu? Are you talking to the giant screen again?"
Rimon looked down. Naba was standing by the door, clutching her backpack. At eight years old, she was small, but she had the sharp, observant eyes of her mother, Nodi.
"I'm not talking to it, Naba. I'm judging it," Rimon replied, his face breaking into a lazy, confident smirk. "There's a difference. One is a conversation, the other is a service to humanity. Now, come here. Your hair looks like a Digimon exploded on your head."
He knelt down, his movements careless yet precise. As he fixed Naba's hair, he subtly adjusted his Void Stillness. He wasn't hiding his Level 197 SSR status—he couldn't, not with the University Battle Royales looming—but he was "muffling" it. To a passing observer, he just felt like a guy who was probably good at video games and definitely bad at following a schedule.
"Are you nervous about the Awakening?" he asked, his voice softening just a fraction.
"A little," Naba whispered.
"Don't be. Even if you're an F-Rank, you'll still be the second smartest person in this house," Rimon teased, lightly tapping her nose. "After me, obviously. It's a heavy burden being this perfect, but I manage."
Naba giggled, the tension in her small shoulders dissipating. This was Rimon's true talent—not the Void, but the way he could turn a world of "Big Dogs" and "Master Tiers" into a joke just to make her smile.
They stepped out into the streets of Keraniganj. The bazaar was a sensory overload of Advanced Tech-Magic Fusion. Blacksmiths used Stark-Plasma Forges to temper blades, while vendors sold Slugterra capsules—tiny, glowing shells that held "Living Data," perfected by the legendary Professor Oak.
As they walked, the crowd was immense, but it seemed to part naturally around them. Rimon didn't push anyone; he just existed with such a "Quiet Logic" that people subconsciously decided to walk elsewhere. It was his Void Stillness at a 0.01% output—a protective bubble that kept the chaos of the 10,000x world away from his niece.
"Mamu, look!" Naba pointed to a giant screen near a PokéCenter hub.
The screen showed a live broadcast from Dhaka University (DU). A silhouette stood in a crater, gravity visibly warping the air around him. The text flashed: ZAYAN (DU) – SSS RANK.
Rimon snorted. "Oh, look. It's the 'Golden Twin.' I bet he spent three hours this morning making sure his cape flutters at exactly the right aerodynamic angle. Maximum edge, zero personality."
A few feet away, a teenager in a BU (Bangladesh University) jacket stiffened. The boy, Vyan, was staring at the screen with a look of pure, concentrated bitterness. He didn't see Rimon, but his knuckles were white as he clutched his tablet.
Rimon glanced at Vyan, then back at the screen. He knew that look. It was the look of someone living in a shadow so big it blocked out the sun.
"Come on, Naba," Rimon said, steering her toward the maglev station. "We have a date with a scanner. And after that, I'm making you buy me ice cream. It's the law."
"But I don't have any money!" Naba protested.
"Then you'd better hope you awaken a 'Money-Maker' talent, kiddo. Otherwise, you're washing dishes."
As they boarded the maglev, a single, silver drone from the SCP Foundation drifted silently above the station. Its lens whirred, capturing the coordinate of a Level 197 SSR walking with a child whose "Source Code" was already beginning to hum.
Chapter 1: The Golden Glitch (Part 2)
The Bright School Awakening Center was a massive fortress of Wayne Enterprises stone-logic, its grey walls pulsing with the green, life-giving veins of Senju-Grown Wood. Inside, the "Sanctum" was a cathedral of high-tier sensors and bureaucratic tension.
Rimon walked through the foyer, his hand firmly in Naba's. To the elite parents and students surrounding them, he looked like a careless intruder—a Keraniganj "nobody" in a faded BU t-shirt. He was chewing gum, his eyes wandering lazily toward the massive Global Ticker screens that lined the hall.
The screen flickered, showing a live feed from ULAB. A familiar silhouette appeared, surrounded by a diamond-like shimmer of Shield-Logic.
Rimon's eyes hit the screen for a fraction of a second. His rhythm didn't break, but the casual smirk on his face dimmed into a cold, unreadable line. He didn't say her name. He didn't explain the history. He simply looked away, his jaw tightening just enough for the gum to stop moving.
"Mamu, look! It's the ULAB lady! She's so pretty," Naba whispered.
"Beauty is just a high-res skin for a buggy operating system, Naba," Rimon muttered, his voice regaining its careless edge. "Focus on the path. I didn't bring you here to watch commercials."
He steered her away, his mind briefly drifting—not to the past, but to a "Present" that felt much safer. He felt a sudden, possessive urge to check his phone for a message from Mahima, but he suppressed it. This wasn't the place for his own obsessions.
As they reached the registration desk, a sleek Stark Industries droid hovered toward them.
"Rimon. University: Bangladesh University. Level 197. Rank: SSR," the droid announced. Its mechanical voice caused a ripple of silence to spread through the nearby crowd. The elite families from Dhaka University (DU) stopped their whispering, their eyes darting toward the messy-haired guy from Keraniganj.
Rimon ignored the stares. He was used to the "SSR" tag causing a glitch in people's social software.
They were ushered into the Inner Sanctum, a room built entirely of Senju-Grown Wood to absorb mana-shocks. In the center stood the Prime Scanner, a jagged crystalline pillar etched with Star-Core circuitry.
"Rimon-sahib, please stand back. The subject must enter the logic-field alone," the technician said, his voice trembling slightly as he noted Rimon's rank.
Rimon knelt in front of Naba. The roaster was gone; in his place was the silent, grounded guardian. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Remember what I told you at home?" he whispered. "The machine is just a calculator. It doesn't know who you are. Whatever happens, we're going to the bazaar after this. I'm right here."
Naba nodded, her face pale but determined. She stepped into the circle.
As she approached the pillar, the room began to change. It wasn't the usual blue hum of a standard awakening. The Senju-wood floorboards began to groan, and the air turned heavy, as if the atmospheric pressure had doubled.
Rimon stood at the edge of the field, his hands in his pockets. To the technician, he looked bored. But internally, Rimon was expanding his Void Stillness. He felt the "Source Code" of the room beginning to vibrate in a frequency that felt ancient—dangerous.
Naba reached out. Her small palm touched the crystal.
For a heartbeat, the world didn't just go silent; it felt like the very concept of "Data" had been deleted. Then, a pulse of liquid gold began to leak from the base of the pillar, creeping upward like a divine virus.
Chapter 1: The Golden Glitch (Part 3)
The air in the Sanctum didn't just vibrate; it curdled. The Senju-Grown Wood groaned as the living timber turned a bruised, dark purple, desperately trying to vent the excess mana Naba was pouring into the crystalline pillar. On the overhead monitors, the level counter wasn't climbing—it was spinning so fast the digits blurred into a solid white bar.
"The hardware can't contain it!" the technician screamed, diving behind a lead-lined console. "The logic-gate is melting! It's a Star-Core breach!"
Outside the building, the mountain-sized Global Ticker above the Buriganga River flickered. The names of Gojo and Ryuga were pushed aside by a jagged, golden static.
Rimon stood at the edge of the circle, his eyes reflecting the molten gold light. He saw the cracks forming on the crystal's surface. He knew that in ten seconds, every satellite from the World Government and every SCP Observer would have a lock on this room. They would see the Bashar Bloodline in its rawest form—an SSR anomaly that could rewrite the district.
Not today, Rimon thought.
He didn't run; he simply exhaled. He unleashed his Void Stillness, not as a passive shield, but as an active predator.
The shadows at Rimon's feet stretched out, defying the golden glare. Like ink dropped into water, the "Nothingness" of his power surged forward, wrapping around the crystalline pillar. To the observers, it looked like a technical glitch—a sudden shroud of darkness battling the light. But internally, Rimon was performing a Manual Overwrite.
He was "eating" the data. Every bit of golden information that screamed SSR was being swallowed by Rimon's void, leaving behind only enough energy to satisfy the machine's thirst for a result.
"Stay hidden," he whispered into the void, his mind-reading ability momentarily touching the raw "Source Code" of Naba's awakening.
With a sound like a dying engine, the pillar stopped glowing. The golden light retreated into Naba's palm, suppressed and locked away by her Mamu's intervention. The room's emergency lights kicked on, casting a sterile, flickering glow over the cracked equipment.
The display on the Prime Scanner sputtered to life.
> AWAKENING COMPLETE
> NAME: Naba
> RANK: SS
> LEVEL: 1
> TYPE: Origin-Logic (Stabilized)
>
The technician crawled out from under his desk, staring at the screen in disbelief. "SS... an eight-year-old SS-rank from the Keraniganj sector. This is... this is a national record."
Rimon stepped into the circle and scooped Naba up. She was pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and exhaustion. She leaned her head against his shoulder, her small hand clutching his BU t-shirt.
"Mamu... the light was bigger than that," she breathed into his ear.
"The light was exactly what we needed it to be, Naba," Rimon replied softly, his voice steady despite the fact that his own mana-veins were burning from the forced suppression.
As they walked out of the Sanctum, the crowd in the foyer had doubled. News drones were already hovering at the entrance. The "Careless Roaster" mask was back on, but Rimon's eyes were scanning the rooftops. He saw it again—the silver SCP drone, its lens tracking their every movement.
He pulled out his phone. A single message sat on his screen from Mahima.
> Mahima: Did it start yet? Tell her she's going to be a star. Also, don't forget the ice cream or I'm telling your mom you skipped the gym again.
>
Rimon felt a small, genuine smile tug at the corner of his mouth. In a world of gold light, ancient bloodlines, and toxic exes, her obsession with the mundane was the only thing keeping him from drifting into the void himself.
He tucked the phone away and stepped out into the chaotic heat of Dhaka. He had hidden the SSR truth, but the world now knew Naba was an SS-rank prodigy. The slow-burn peace of Keraniganj was officially over.