The meeting with 'Siren-Neurolink'—or "Syren," as their sleek, corporate branding insisted—was an exercise in absolute, mind-numbing tedium. I sat in the stiff classroom chair, watching the representative’s lips move, but the words were lost in a sea of logistical jargon. There were endless clauses about "data-latency," "mana-synch efficiency," and "standardized biological telemetry."

  My mind refused to latch onto any of it. Instead, I retreated inward, focusing on the [Summon Mana Monster] Shard. It felt like a smooth, cold stone slowly sinking through the layers of my consciousness, drifting closer to its final resting place in my inner spirit. It didn't require my active concentration to settle, but it was far more interesting than the woman in the grey suit. Every time I tried to tune back into the conversation, the terms blew over my head like a dry wind, leaving nothing behind. I caught fragments of the Manager rebutting dozens of terms with surgical sharpness, his voice a steady barricade until he finally dismissed the representative with a curt nod.

  The door hissed shut, and the silence that followed was heavy.

  "This is why you don't allow a bidding war to reach the bottom of the barrel. Sometimes the lowest bidder is low for a reason," the Manager said. While his voice remained that strange, androgynous chime, the emotion behind it was suddenly, vibrantly audible: a cocktail of annoyance, professional anger, and pure frustration. "Their systems are two generations behind. Pathetic. There is no point in grafting an [AI] to your psyche if its processing speed is slower than your own reflexes. What did you think of her, Mister Wren?"

  "I, uh..." I stumbled, the fog of the Shard still clinging to my thoughts.

  "You weren’t paying attention. I know," he interrupted, his porcelain mask turning toward me. "Listen well, Wren: you must pay attention even when—especially when—you don't want to. Every interaction is a study. Watch how a person walks; their gait tells you if they are confident or carrying a hidden injury. Their posture tells you if they respect you or fear you. Their cadence tells you if they are lying."

  He paced the small room, his robes whispering against the floor.

  "See how she spoke? She was static. No hand gestures, no wasted body language. Usually, an animated speaker is either genuinely expressive or trained in theater—someone highly proprioceptive and aware of their physical impact. But she? She was a pillar of facts. She didn't even try to 'upsell' us, which is a tactical error for a salesperson, yet she was punctual and hated nonsense. She wanted to cut straight to the heart of the deal."

  I heard a soft, genuine sigh vibrate through the mask.

  "She is wasted as a sales representative. Her talents lie in being an executive’s assistant—the iron spine behind a powerful desk. I hope she finds such a position soon, for her sake and the company's. But for our sake? We need someone with more... ambition."

  He turned back to the table, his gloved fingers tapping the mahogany.

  "Clean your mind, Wren. The next representative is from 'Aura-Gate.' Try to stay awake for this one."

  The next representative didn’t just enter the room; he practically vibrated into it, bringing with him a visual sensory assault that made the previous woman from Syren look like a stone statue. I stared in genuine awe—not at his power, but at his sheer audacity.

  He was wearing a garish, short-sleeved button-down covered in neon-red and yellow floral patterns that seemed to scream against the dim, clinical lighting of the classroom. Paired with short khaki shorts, leather sandals, and dark aviator sunglasses, he looked like a man who had been plucked from a tropical beach on a different planet and dropped into our world of perpetual rain and grey stone. He even held a tall, frosted glass filled with a bright blue liquid, complete with a tiny paper umbrella.

  “Yo,” he said, flashing a grin that was far too bright for this basement. “Here today to talk about ‘Aura-Gate,’ so let’s get this party started. Listen, we don't claim to offer the most 'over-clocked' [AI]s on the market—honestly, chasing that dragon is a fool’s errand for a dozen technical reasons—but we are at the top of the competitive bracket where it actually matters.”

  He took a casual sip of his drink, leaning back against a table of anatomical charts as if he owned the place.

  “Our pride, broskis, is in the 'Gate.' We specialize in zero-loss mana reserve management. We gate the cost of the [AI] itself so it doesn't cannibalize your own casting pool. Our systems are built to merge seamlessly with the actual [AI] Skill once you officially acquire it, brah. No rejection, no lag, just a clean handshake between your spirit and our code.”

  He gestured vaguely toward me with his glass.

  “Plus, our [AI] is lightning-quick at mapping your specific mana channels. It finds your ‘stop-gates’—those little hiccups in your flow—and smooths them out in real-time. Thus: Aura-Gate. Every unit comes standard with an Aura Enchanting Module that auto-updates based on your environment, and we’ve got hundreds of other modules available upon request. So, hit me. I got the answers.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. I looked at the Manager, expecting him to incinerate the man where he stood for the sheer lack of professionalism. Instead, the Manager remained perfectly still, his porcelain mask reflecting the neon floral patterns of the salesman’s shirt.

  “You speak of 'stop-gates,'” the Manager said, his voice dangerously low. “Sir Wren is a specialist in anatomy. Does your system provide a HUD overlay for organic weaknesses, or is it purely focused on the internal mana-flow of the user?”

  The salesman pointed a finger-gun at the Manager. “Oh, it does both, my guy. It’s got a ‘Predator-Vision’ suite that highlights bio-rhythms. It doesn't just see the mana; it sees the heartbeat. It sees the gate you're trying to close.”

  I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. This man looked like a joke, but the "predator" he was selling sounded exactly like the monster I was being trained to become.

  The Manager didn’t move. He didn’t sigh, and he didn't reach for a weapon, but the air in the small classroom grew noticeably heavy, the atmospheric pressure dropping as his internal mana began to cycle in a slow, predatory rhythm. Beside him, the representative from Aura-Gate—who looked more like he’d lost his way to a beach party than a high-stakes imperial contract meeting—didn’t even flinch. He just took another long, noisy slurp of his neon-blue drink through a bendy straw.

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  "Your 'Predator-Vision' suite," the Manager began, his voice a cold, mechanical chime that felt like it was echoing from the bottom of a well. "Sir Wren is currently at Tier One. His mana pool is a puddle, not a reservoir. You speak of zero-loss management and gating the cost, but let’s talk hard numbers, broski. What is the passive drain on a dormant spirit? Because if your 'gate' leaks even a fraction of a percent of his natural recovery, he won’t have the breath left to cast the very [Summon] your system is supposed to optimize."

  The surfer-bro—who I noticed had a small name tag that simply read 'Jax' pinned to his floral shirt—kicked his sandals off, revealing tanned, calloused feet. He didn't seem to care about the Manager’s intimidating aura.

  "Woah, keep it chill, big guy," Jax said, waving a hand dismissively. "I get it. You’re worried about the 'vampire effect.' Old-gen [AI]s used to suck the user dry just to keep the clock running, right? But Aura-Gate 4.0 is different. We use a 'Pulse-Sync' architecture. When Wren isn't in combat, the [AI] goes into a deep-sleep stasis. It draws literally zero mana. It lives off the ambient heat of his own nervous system. It’s basically a ghost in the machine until his heart rate hits 110 beats per minute or his adrenaline spikes. Then? Bam. It wakes up, smells the blood in the water, and starts the mapping."

  "And the integration?" the Manager pressed, stepping closer until he was looming over the seated salesman. "Most systems require a surgical shunt. I will not have his brainstem tampered with by a man wearing... whatever it is you are wearing."

  Jax laughed, a bright, easy sound that felt completely out of place in a prison. "No shunts, brah. This isn't the dark ages. It’s a 'Spirit-Wrap.' We deliver the [AI] as a condensed essence-pill. He swallows it, his stomach acids break the shell, and the code hitches a ride on his mana-circulatory system until it finds a home in his Inner Spirit. It wraps around his Talent like a cozy blanket. No needles, no scars. Just a bit of a localized headache for an hour while it builds the HUD."

  I watched them back and forth, my eyes darting between the porcelain mask and the aviator sunglasses. It was surreal. They were discussing the invasion of my mind as if they were haggling over the price of a used carriage.

  "What about the 'Stop-Gates'?" the Manager asked. "You claimed it finds them. Sir Wren’s Talent is unique. It is a mimicry type. If your [AI] attempts to 'map' his soul and finds a hole where a personality should be, does it crash? Does it loop?"

  Jax’s expression turned surprisingly serious for a split second. He lowered his glass. "That’s the beauty of the Gate, Manager. Our system doesn't try to fill the void. It maps the edges. See, if his talent is unique, the AI will try to learn it, map it, and provide clear avenues for growth. I can not recommend more without knowing the talent, but I can go into the basic suite shortly.” The Manager went silent. He was considering the logistics. I could tell by the way his gloved fingers began a rhythmic tapping against his thigh.

  "The Earls require a backdoor," the Manager said suddenly. "A kill-switch. If the asset is compromised, or if the [AI] suffers a corruption arc from the 'Dangerous' nature of his primary Talent, we need a way to purge the system."

  Jax winced, a look of genuine pain crossing his face. "Bummer, man. Total buzzkill. But yeah, we got an 'Imperial Override' module. It’s standard for state contracts. You get a master-key essence-code. You input it, and the [AI] dissolves into inert mana. It’ll leave him with a nasty hangover and a temporary mana-burn, but it won’t fry his grey matter. Safety first, right?"

  "And the price?" the Manager asked. "You mentioned you were competitive."

  "For the Empire? For a Tier 13 contract prospect?" Jax grinned, flashing teeth that were impossibly white. "We’ll do it for the data-rights. You pay for the hardware—the essence-pill—and we waive the monthly licensing fee in exchange for a 'Blind-Data' stream of his combat performance. We don't see his face, we don't see his location, we just see how the mana moves. Deal?"

  The Manager’s question hung in the cold air of the classroom, and for a moment, the silence was so thick I could hear the faint, rhythmic ticking of the essence-lamps. I felt like a bug pinned under a microscope, or perhaps a patient on the table, already being dissected by the eyes of two men who saw me as an asset rather than a boy.

  I looked at Jax. He gave me a lazy thumbs-up and a wink from behind his shades, but the gesture felt hollow, a practiced mask for a different kind of predator. Then I looked at the diagrams of the spine on the table—the "gates" the Manager had spent hours teaching me to close. If I was going to be a surgeon, I needed the best vision possible. But I also knew the gutter taught you one thing: if a deal sounds too easy, someone is hiding a knife.

  “There’s a few concerns I have, Mr. Jax,” I said, my voice steadier than the trembling in my knees. “As it stands, you said there’s no surgical basis, but every [AI] system I’ve ever heard of must originally be installed at the top of the spinal column, right where the spine and the cereb… cerebellum attach. This is to ensure the spirit accepts the pseudo-skill [AI]. You say you’ve revolutionized a new technology, but this sounds like a trap in all the wrong ways.”

  Jax didn't look offended. Instead, he clapped his hands together, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the small room.

  “Correct! Five stars, gold sticker, the works!” Jax grinned, though the "surfer-bro" facade seemed to thin, revealing a sharp, calculating intelligence underneath. “As I’m sure you noticed when I called him ‘Manager’ without being introduced, I was pre-vetted. Yeah. Most of that ‘pill-swallowing’ pitch is pure marketing fluff for the investors. Not possible at this tech-tier, and I’m glad you sussed it out. Let me guess, Manager—you told him to pay attention to this one?”

  “Yes, Sir Jax. I did.” The Manager’s voice was smooth, carrying a rare note of professional satisfaction. “Now, can you tell us how the Aura-Gate system actually works so we can verify the specifications to Sir Wren here?”

  “Alrighty,” Jax said, his posture straightening as he dropped the slang. “The Aura-Gate [AI] system is currently at version TR-31. We have top-of-the-line aura enchantments baked directly into the kernel. The version we suggest for both his profession as a Delver and his… grisly work… is a customized hybrid. We recommend the [Archer] suite for precision and distance-tracking, the [Mage’s] suite for mana-flow optimization, and a standard [Alchemy] and [Enchanting] suite with aura-mapping, which is what our [AI]s are designed for.”

  He began to pace, the sandals clicking against the stone.

  “We’d also recommend the [Learner’s] model. It’s similar to a [Researcher] [AI], specifically designed to ‘learn’ exactly the way the user does, syncing its neural-net to your specific cognitive biases. It will auto-monitor your heart rate and adrenal output—and we meant that part. Our current price? We want the data of your [AI] plus a down-payment and a monthly installment of two at-tier mana stones until you hit Tier 10. Or, if the Earls are feeling flush, six Tier 10 mana stones to fully buy out the contract right now.”

  The Manager looked at me again. The shadow of his hood seemed to ask the final question. I thought about the Kobolds waiting for me in a week, and the "gates" I would have to find in the dark. I needed an edge that wasn't just my own fear.

  I took a deep breath, meeting the Manager's invisible gaze, and then nodded.

  “Where do we sign, and when do we begin?”

  Jax’s grin returned, but this time, it didn't reach his eyes. “We begin tonight, Sir Wren. Hope you aren't fond of sleep. The spinal integration is… well, it’s a bit of a rush.”