The world connected before he ever could.
Ren Shiba learned that long before he understood what it meant.
Before equations.
Before combat.
Before betrayal.
The first time Ren saw the Sync-Net, he was six years old.
It wasn't something you touched.
It wasn't something you learned.
It was something you received.
A quiet gift from a system that decided your place before you even knew who you were.
He stood in line with the other children, hands at his sides, eyes steady.
Around him, there was excitement.
Parents whispering.
Children fidgeting.
Hope filling the air like something alive.
One by one, they stepped forward.
The scanner would glow softly, and a number would appear above their heads.
12%. 27%. 43%.
Some numbers were greeted with smiles.
Others with silence.
Even at that age, Ren noticed the pattern.
Higher numbers meant warmth.
Lower numbers meant distance.
When it was his turn, he didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward.
The scanner activated.
And paused.
It was subtle.
So small that most people wouldn't notice.
But Ren did.
The light flickered.
The system recalculated.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
0.00%.
For a moment, no one spoke.
No cheers.
No disappointment.
Just silence.
Ren looked up at the number above his head.
It didn't feel heavy.
It didn't feel meaningful.
It was just… there.
But the silence changed something.
A child next to him took a small step away.
A parent gently pulled their son closer.
Even his own father didn't move.
Didn't react.
Didn't speak.
That was the moment Ren learned something important.
Silence could define a person more than any number ever could.
Years passed.
The world evolved.
Ren didn't.
Neo-Kyoto, 2026.
A city built on connection.
Data streams flowed through the sky like veins of light, linking everything—people, machines, decisions.
No one was alone.
Because no one needed to be.
Except him.
Ren walked through the city like a misplaced variable in a perfect equation.
Not rejected.
Not attacked.
Just… unnecessary.
At the gates of the Sync Combat Academy, students gathered in groups.
Laughter.
Competition.
Confidence.
Numbers hovered above their heads like quiet declarations of worth.
Ren stood at the edge of it all.
No number above him.
No system recognition.
He stepped forward for the daily scan.
The machine reacted the same way it always did.
A pause.
A flicker.
Then—
SYNC RATE: 0.00%
STATUS: NULL-BORN
He didn't look at it.
He already knew.
What he noticed instead was the space around him.
It widened.
Subtly.
Naturally.
As if people adjusted without thinking.
No one wanted to stand too close to something that didn't belong.
Ren kept walking.
He had learned long ago—
If you stop, they see you.
If you keep moving, you disappear.
The classroom was already active.
A demonstration was underway.
A student stood in the center, arm wrapped in blue light.
The Sync-Net flowed through him effortlessly.
Enhancing. Correcting. Guiding.
"System-assisted combat eliminates inefficiency," the instructor said.
The student moved.
One strike.
Clean.
Precise.
The training drone shattered instantly.
Applause followed.
It always did.
Ren didn't clap.
He observed.
Not the result.
The structure.
The angle of the shoulder.
The tension in the wrist.
The delay between decision and execution.
Too wide.
Too slow.
Too assisted.
He didn't think it out of arrogance.
He thought it because it was… accurate.
"Ren Shiba."
The instructor's voice cut through the room.
Ren stood.
Walked forward.
Felt the familiar weight of attention—not respect, but expectation.
"Demonstrate."
A simple command.
An impossible one.
Ren looked at his hands.
Then at the instructor.
"I can't access the system."
A few students laughed.
Others didn't bother.
It wasn't worth reacting to something predictable.
The instructor's gaze remained steady.
"Then explain."
Ren hesitated.
Not because he lacked an answer.
But because he understood the consequence of giving it.
Still—
He spoke.
"The attack was inefficient."
Silence.
Not the usual silence.
A different kind.
The student who had demonstrated stepped forward.
His Sync rate hovered above him—high enough to command attention.
"Say that again."
Ren met his eyes.
No hostility.
No fear.
"You rely on system correction," Ren said calmly.
"If it fails, your strike collapses."
The air shifted.
"Then show me."
Ren stepped into the arena.
The drone activated.
The system adjusted.
A warning flickered briefly:
NULL-BORN PARTICIPANT DETECTED
The student attacked first.
Fast.
Enhanced.
Precise.
Ren moved—
—and got hit.
Pain spread instantly through his body.
He hit the ground hard.
Air left his lungs.
No one reacted.
This was expected.
Ren stayed down for a moment.
Not thinking about losing.
Not thinking about pain.
Thinking.
Too fast?
No.
Too dependent.
He stood up.
The second attack came immediately.
This time—
Ren stepped forward.
A slight shift.
A precise angle.
A movement so small it looked accidental.
The strike missed.
Barely.
Ren's hand moved.
Not fast.
Not powerful.
Just correct.
He struck the joint.
The student's arm gave out.
Not broken.
Not destroyed.
Disrupted.
Silence.
Ren stepped back, breathing heavier now.
"Your system compensates," he said quietly.
"I don't have that option."
For the first time—
No one laughed.
Later, on the rooftop, the wind moved gently across the city.
Ren stood alone.
Looking out at the network that connected everyone but him.
"So you really can fight."
Yuna's voice was soft.
Careful.
Ren didn't turn immediately.
"It wasn't a fight."
She stepped closer.
Not enough to invade.
Just enough to exist beside him.
"You still won."
Ren shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"I just understood it better."
Yuna smiled faintly.
Not because she fully understood.
But because she believed him.
That mattered more than she knew.
That night, the Shiba estate was silent.
Cold.
Structured.
Perfect.
Ren stood before his family.
"You embarrassed us."
His father's voice carried no anger.
Only disappointment.
"Even without Sync," his brother added,
"you should know your place."
Ren said nothing.
"Tomorrow," his father continued,
"you will participate in the evaluation."
A pause.
"Or you will be removed."
Ren understood.
He nodded.
The next day, the arena was filled.
Students.
Instructors.
Observers.
Ren stood alone at the center.
The scan began.
0.00%.
Familiar.
Expected.
But this time—
The system didn't finish.
It hesitated.
Then—
"ANOMALY DETECTED."
The ground beneath him cracked.
Gasps spread through the arena.
Ren didn't panic.
Didn't move.
He watched.
The world opened beneath him.
And he fell.
Above him—
His family.
His classmates.
The world that never accepted him.
No one reached out.
And in that moment—
Ren understood.
This was never an accident.
As darkness swallowed him, one thought remained.
Even now…
I can't connect.
Silence.
No light.
No sound.
No system.
For the first time in his life—
There was nothing.
Then—
A voice.
Broken.
Distorted.
"SCANNING…"
Pause.
"ERROR: NO COMPATIBLE PROTOCOL"
Another pause.
Longer.
Deeper.
Something responded.
"…INITIATING MANUAL LAYER"
Ren opened his eyes.
There was nothing there.
Except—
A faint distortion.
Red.
Unstable.
Waiting.
End of Chapter 1