“In the event of an incursion, citizens are advised to remain calm, stay in place, and allow certified Incursion Control personnel to resolve the situation.”

  — Incursion Control Corp., Public Safety Advisory

  I stepped out of the Kallum building, still processing everything that had just happened, when my vision flickered.

  [Incursion Predictor activated!]

  Note: Imminent incursion detected in nearby area, forcibly activating your plugin. You can disable this behaviour in the plugin settings.

  Location: [Map Plugin Missing]

  Threat Gray:

  

  
• 
  
    Level 1: 63%
  
    


  
• 
  
    Level 2: 22%
  
    


  
• 
  
    Level 3: 10%
  
    


  
• 
  
    Level 4: 3%
  
    


  
• 
  
    Level 5: >1%
  
    


  

  Threat Green:

  

  
• 
  
    Level 1: <1%
  
    


  

  Time: 41 minutes

  Found compatible Map Software in Grome, connect?

  [Yes/No]

  I stopped dead in the middle of the walkway, and someone behind me muttered a curse before moving around my armored bulk.

  “Plugins have settings?!” I said aloud, drawing a weird look from a passing businessman. Thankfully, I didn’t get penalized for revealing a big system secret.

  I stared at the notification, mind racing. The predictor plugin had been sitting dormant since I’d got it yesterday. I’d assumed it would just... activate when I wanted it to. Not forcibly boot up and start throwing warnings at me.

  But settings? Could I customize this and disable the forced activation? What else could these plugins do that I didn’t know about?

  I filed that question away for later and pressed [Yes].

  The system window flickered.

  [Connecting…]

  [Error! Grome tracking service found. Forking…]

  [Forked. New name: Dash Map]

  [Connecting API…]

  [Serrano tracking service found! Removing…]

  [Removed!]

  [Connected!]

  I blinked at the cascade of messages.

  Did... did the plugin just create a new app? On my holoband? Called “Dash Map”?

  And it had removed tracking services. Plural. Grome, which was made by Serrano anyway, major corpo tracking systems that logged every movement, every search, every location ping for their advertising algorithms and “user experience optimization.”

  The plugin had just... forked a new version without those. Created a private map app that couldn’t be monitored.

  How overpowered this thing is?!

  I pulled out my holoband with shaking hands and navigated to my apps. Sure enough, there it was. A new icon I’d never installed, never downloaded, just... spawned into existence by my system plugin.

  Dash Map.

  I opened it.

  The interface loaded instantly, showing a clean satellite view of Tago. No ads or suggested routes. Not even “popular destinations” trying to funnel me toward corpo-approved shopping districts.

  Just a map.

  And there, pulsing with an angry red marker, was the incursion location.

  Midorikawa D?mmergrund Park.

  I zoomed in, checking the distance. About six kilometers from my current position. Definitely doable. The park was a decent size, too, probably a square kilometer of green space, which meant plenty of room for an incursion to manifest without immediately threatening civilians.

  Forty-one minutes until it hit.

  I stared at the marker, weighing my options.

  I could ignore it. Take the train to Café Orbital, meet Omar, have a normal conversation about system mechanics and mana integration and whatever movie night drama I was being dragged into.

  Or...

  I could check it out. See what an incursion actually looked like when you knew it was coming. Maybe even fight it if the threat level stayed low. Level 1 or 2 gray incursions were supposed to be manageable for plebeian licensed hunters, right?

  But I didn’t have my new gear yet. Just the TitanWard armor I’d cobbled together, the rifle that worked most of the time, and great-grandpa’s sword that I barely knew how to use properly.

  Was that enough?

  I pulled up Omar’s contact and hit call, and he answered on the first ring. “Yo, Dash! You close? I’m about to board the train to—”

  “Change of plans,” I interrupted. “Can you meet me at Midorikawa Café? Near the park in D?mmergrund?”

  “Midorikawa?” He paused. “Yeah, sure. Actually, it's a few stops earlier for me. Why the switch?”

  “I’ll explain when I see you,” I said, glancing at the red marker on my map. “Something came up. Nothing bad, just... I need to check something out first.”

  “Mysterious,” Omar said, but I could hear the grin in his voice. “Alright, habibi. I’ll grab us a table. Don’t be late!”

  “I won’t. See you soon.”

  I ended the call and stared at my holoband.

  Thirty-nine minutes now.

  We’d be safe, probably. The café was close enough to observe but far enough to evacuate if things went sideways. Maybe I’d even fight it.

  If it were Level 1 or 2, I could handle that... probably. The bugs in the school mines had been nastier than most Level 1 incursions, according to the documentation I’d read, and I’d survived those.

  Omar might even be able to help. He was at Creston Academy now, training to be a proper system user. He had to have some combat capability, right? Though he probably wasn’t walking around Tago in full gear...

  I checked my equipment out of habit.

  TitanWard armor was functional. Some scorch marks from the chaos shard, a few dents I hadn’t bothered hammering out, but the core plating was solid.

  Rifle was fine. Overheating was a genuine threat, but unless I went on a rampage, it should be fine.

  Pistols were both charged. Low-grade plasma discharge, but they’d drop most threats if I got close enough.

  Sword… still strapped to my side. Still completely beyond my skill level to use properly.

  If the incursion stayed below 3, I’d try it. If it spiked higher? I’d run. A simple plan, which probably wouldn’t get me killed.

  Probably.

  But it wouldn’t hurt to have backup. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone like… Erika.

  [Me: Hey Eri! I’m at Midorikawa D?mmergrund Park. Omar’s with me. Might be an incursion coming - spotted some weird reality distortions. Gonna check it out.]

  [Erika: Dash what are you TALKING about. You can’t detect distortions without specialized equipment]

  [Erika: Is this real or are you trying to get me to come hang out]

  [Me: It’s real! Probably! Maybe? ...okay fine I just wanted to see you but ALSO there might actually be an incursion. lol?]

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  [Erika: I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU]

  [Erika: ...I’m coming anyway. Don’t do anything stupid before I arrive.]

  I turned toward the train station and started walking, armor clanking with each step. The D?mmergrund Line was waiting, doors open, the automated voice announcing departure in two minutes.

  I boarded and found a spot near the window.

  [Paid: ￠2]

  As the train pulled away from the station, I watched the Kallum building shrink into the distance, that massive chrome logo catching the afternoon sun.

  Thirty-seven minutes until the incursion hit.

  The train deposited me at Midorikawa Station, and I followed the signs toward the park, checking my map every few steps.

  Thirty minutes now.

  The park revealed itself gradually as I walked, starting with a traditional torii gate that had been retrofitted with neon accent lighting. The wood was real, weathered and dark, but thin strips of blue-white illumination traced the curves of the crossbeams, pulsing gently… and taking an entrance fee.

  [Paid: ￠1]

  Beyond the gate, the path split into carefully raked gravel walkways that wound between sculpted trees and ornamental rocks. Someone had put serious effort into maintaining the Japanese aesthetic, everything meticulously pruned and positioned according to principles I didn’t understand but could appreciate.

  Holographic koi swam through a stone pond, their projected bodies flickering occasionally when the emitters needed maintenance.

  A meditation pavilion sat beside a grove of cherry trees, its roof traditional timber but its support columns sleek chrome with integrated lighting. Stone lanterns lined the paths, except half of them had been upgraded with smart-glass panels.

  It was like someone had taken a historical garden and dragged it kicking and screaming into the Earth 2.0, then tried to make the marriage look intentional.

  I walked deeper into the park, boots crunching on gravel, armor drawing a few curious looks from the handful of people enjoying the afternoon. A couple sat on a bench beneath a maple tree, sharing something from a takeout container. An old man practiced martial arts near the pond, movements slow, completely ignoring the holographic fish.

  Normal. Absolutely no indication that in less than thirty minutes, reality was going to tear open and vomit monsters into this carefully maintained space.

  I checked my map again. The incursion marker pulsed near the center of the park, maybe two hundred meters from where I stood. I could stake out a position, watch it happen, see what—

  My stomach growled.

  Right. I’d eaten noodles on Floor 72, but that felt like a lifetime ago now and Omar was waiting, so I turned back toward the entrance and spotted the café.

  I’ll just get a coffee; that will keep my stomach from complaining.

  Midorikawa Café sat just outside the park’s main gate, occupying a corner building that tried very, very hard not to look corporate, despite having the name of a Fortune 15 corporation.

  The exterior was all dark wood paneling and brushed steel, with traditional shoji screens that had been reinforced with smart-glass. Neon kanji glowed above the entrance in that specific shade of blue-white that screamed, “we’re authentic but also cutting-edge.” A miniature rock garden flanked the doorway, complete with a small fountain that burbled peacefully despite being surrounded by the noise of the street.

  But the details gave it away.

  The Midorikawa logo subtly embossed on the door handle. The Serrano Group holographic display advertising “premium network connectivity for all guests.” The fact that every table visible through the windows had integrated charging ports and privacy screens.

  This was a corpo café pretending to be independent, probably designed to appeal to people who wanted to feel like they were supporting local businesses while still getting the standardized quality control that only megacorps could provide.

  I pushed through the door.

  The interior committed fully to the aesthetic. Low lighting, wooden tables with clean lines, paper lanterns hanging from exposed beams that were definitely load-bearing but had been stained to look older than they were. The walls displayed scrolls with calligraphy that I couldn’t read, interspersed with screens showing ADs.

  And in the corner, trying very hard to look subtle, was a mounted display of military-grade coffee brewing equipment. The barista behind the counter wore traditional clothing that had been modified with tactical pockets and reinforced stitching.

  Corpo-military-Japanese fusion, trying desperately to look organic.

  I spotted Omar immediately.

  He was sitting at a corner table near the windows, giving him a clear view of both the park and the café entrance. Smart positioning. He’d always been good at that, finding spots where he could watch everything without looking paranoid.

  Omar hadn’t changed much in the three months since I’d last seen him in person. Twenty years, athletic build that came from actual training rather than enhancement. Dark hair kept short, and he had that Arabic look as if belonging to Al-Sirr gang, that made people on trains occasionally give him suspicious glances until they noticed the Creston Academy insignia on his jacket and decided he was “one of the good ones.”

  He looked up as I approached, and his face split into a genuine grin. “Dash!” He stood, arms already spreading for a hug.

  I returned it awkwardly, armor clanking against his considerably lighter clothing. He didn’t seem to care, squeezing hard enough that I felt it through the TitanWard plating.

  “Habibi, it’s good to see you!” He pulled back, hands on my shoulders, giving me an exaggerated once-over. “Though I gotta ask...” His grin shifted to confused amusement. “Why the full armor? It’s not Friday.”

  I blinked. “Friday?”

  “Yeah, Friday. Practical combat day at school?” He gestured at my gear. “You know, the day when showing up at your school armored makes sense?” He dropped back into his chair, still looking at me with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Did something happen? You in trouble?”

  I sat down across from him, my rifle scraping against the chair back. The table was too low for comfortable armored sitting, but I made it work.

  “Not trouble, exactly,” I said. “Just... prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?” Omar leaned forward. “Dash, you called me, changed the meeting location, and showed up looking like you’re about to fight incursion. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got a system,” I said, deciding not to beat around the bush.

  Omar leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Bullshit.”

  “No, seriously—”

  “Na-ah.” He shook his head, but his expression was more sad than dismissive. “Never happened, Dash. No matter how much you try to convince yourself.” He let out a long breath. “Man, I wish it were true, but...”

  “It is the truth,” I insisted. “Trust me, Omar. Test me.”

  He looked even sadder now, like I’d just told him I believed in the flat Mars theory or something equally ridiculous. “Dash... habibi, you know all tests can be faked. Remember?” He gave me a pointed look. “It was me who told you that. Back when we were trying to figure out if Kunal was actually manifesting or just using borrowed gear.”

  I grinned. “Tell me something about the system.”

  Omar’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “That’s a penalt—” He stopped mid-word, staring at me. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

  He glanced around the café, checking if anyone was within earshot. The closest occupied table was three meters away, and those people were absorbed in their own conversation. He leaned forward, whispering, “How did you...? No. No way.”

  I giggled. Actually giggled, which was not something I did often, but the look on his face was priceless. “Would you believe me,” I said, matching his quiet tone, “if I told you a secretary at Scavantis told me that system users have levels and can upgrade their attributes?”

  Omar stared at me suspiciously for a solid five seconds. Then he glanced around again, confirming we were still alone. He leaned even closer. “Okay. I’ll bite.” His voice was barely audible now. “System users can also level up their skills.”

  He closed his eyes immediately, wincing like he was about to be smitten by an angry god. His whole body tensed, waiting for the system penalty that should have hit him for revealing classified information to a non-user.

  Nothing happened.

  He cracked one eye open. Then the other. His head tilted slightly, confusion written all over his face. “Huh?”

  “Told you,” I said, unable to keep the smug satisfaction out of my voice. “I’ve got a system.”

  Omar’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. The sadness vanished, replaced by genuine excitement. He grabbed my arm across the table, grinning wide. “Dash! Man! How?! When did this happen?!”

  I smiled, but it faded quickly. “Eh... I was in danger and… actually, no idea. But the thing is...” I hesitated, then committed. “Someone is draining my system compatibility. I’m supposed to have over eighty percent.”

  Omar’s grin disappeared. “You serious?”

  I nodded.

  “Shit.” He sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t know that was even possible.”

  “Well, me neither,” I admitted. “But it’s a thing, and I’m going to find out who did it and why.”

  Omar studied me for a moment, then glanced at my armor, the rifle, the general readiness of my gear. Understanding dawned on his face, and he finally relaxed, settling back into his chair with that laid-back posture I knew so well. “That’s the reason for the full armor, huh?”

  Before I could answer, a waitress appeared beside our table.

  She wore a modified kimono in dark navy with Midorikawa tactical elements woven throughout. Reinforced stitching at the shoulders, pockets designed to hold small electronics, sleeves that could be rolled up and secured with magnetic clasps. Her hair was pulled back in a practical style, and she had a small holographic notepad floating above her palm.

  “Welcome to our café,” she said with a smile, and I haven’t missed how she avoided naming Midorikawa. “What can I get you?”

  Omar didn’t even glance at the menu. “I’ll have the Neon Surge,” he said immediately. “Extra shot, with that synthetic cream stuff. And—” he paused dramatically, grinning at me, “—add the chili powder.”

  The waitress raised an eyebrow but tapped it into her notepad without comment.

  I did glance at the menu, scanning the aggressive drink names. Half of them sounded like they’d give you a heart attack. The other half sounded like they’d give you superpowers… and then a heart attack. “Just a Classic Neo-Brew,” I said. “Black.”

  “Boring!” Omar declared.

  “Survivable.”

  The waitress smiled faintly and finished entering our orders before sending the bill. “I’ll have those out in a few minutes.”

  [Paid: ￠15]

  She glided away, and Omar turned back to me, leaning forward again with renewed energy. “Okay, so. Someone drained your compatibility. That’s...” He whistled low. “That’s corpo conspiracy shit, Dash. Like, actual conspiracy, not the paranoid kind.” He paused. “Who’d even have access to do that?”

  I let out a long sigh. “I had time to think about it. I can imagine a few scenarios.” I traced a finger along the edge of the table, organizing my thoughts. “First is that some corpo here in Tago needed a compatibility for his offspring and found me. I wasn’t a target, just... a circumstance. Wrong place, wrong time. No idea how they’d even do it, though.”

  Omar shook his head immediately. “Nah, no way a local corpo has that kind of tech.” He kept his voice low, but there was certainty in it. “It needs to be one of the Fortune 15. And even then...” He whistled softly. “Scary shit, man. Compatibility is like... the most important thing for system users.”

  He blinked and then grinned despite the heavy topic. “For us.”

  I smiled back at him, warmth spreading through my chest at that casual inclusion. Us. System users. Not “me and you,” but us together. “Yeah,” I said. “Also, a random drain? No way. It has to be targeted.”

  Omar nodded, his expression turning serious again. “I think so too. Which means...”

  I finished the thought for him. “It’s either my family or my family’s enemies. And after talk with my cousin… I think I know.”

  Omar leaned back in his chair, processing that. The café hummed with quiet conversation around us, the gentle burble of the fountain outside mixing with the hiss of the espresso machine. Through the window, I could see Midorikawa Park, peaceful and serene.

  For now.

  There were twenty-one minutes until the incursion hit.

  But that felt distant compared to the weight of what I’d just said. Someone in the Kallum family, or an enemy of the Kallum family, had systematically drained my system compatibility for six months.

  And I did not know which possibility scared me more.

  TODAY’S CHAPTER IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY Incursion Control Corp.

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