The air in my apartment, was a charmingly titled "Depression Dungeon," that still clung to the faint, acrid scent of burnt mana and the soul-crushing realization that I'd just spent my last credit on a tutorial.
It was 2:37 a.m., and my body felt like it had been through a mana-powered washing machine on the heavy-duty cycle.
Still, despite the exhaustion buzzing in my skull, my hands had a tremor that wasn't just from lack of sleep. It was, remarkably something I hadn't felt in almost six months—hope.
I collapsed onto my lumpy mattress, took a lungful of stale air, and muttered, "System, activate."
Silence.
A familiar, frustrated sigh escaped me. Then, a different approach. "Nova, wake up."
It was like a digital siren answering my call, as the interface materialized, it was a sleek symphony of sparkling gold lines that hummed softly, a loyal bitch that had apparently just been waiting for the right cue.
[ Welcome back, Leon. Manual override accepted. ]
[ Tutorial Mission:Complete. ]
[ Reward:+20 SP. ]
[ New Balance: 20 SP. ]
"Twenty points," I breathed, as a grin stretched across my face like a particularly unhinged Cheshire cat. "Finally. I'm officially less broke than a street urchin who just lost his last copper."
The golden panels shifted, as they neatly organized themselves into tabs, each one dripping with a sarcastic wit that felt all too familiar.
[ Bills: ₵120 — due in 4 days ]
[ Mana Utility Fee: ₵40 ]
[ Wi-Fyra Connection: ₵30 ]
[ Dorm Maintenance: ₵60 ]
[ Miscellaneous Shit I Probably Don't Need: ₵25 ]
I groaned. it was a sound that echoed the existential dread of my financial situation.
"Moderate, my ass. I'm in spiritual debt. Pretty sure the government taxes the air I breathe."
The numbers glowed an angry red, a stark reminder that one more late payment and I'd be living by candlelight, contemplating the philosophical implications of mana-less existence.
"Alright, Nova," I mumbled, rubbing my weary eyes. "Anything new on the mission board? Preferably something that involves seducing a professor or, you know, actual action?"
[ Mission Board: EMPTY. ]
[ ADVISORY: User core stability optimal. ]
[ OPTIONAL TIP: Sleep. Your brain is threatening to stage a hostile takeover. ]
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, pulling the threadbare blanket over me. "For a disembodied AI, you nag like my mother after a glass of fermented mana spirits."
The golden glow retreated, and then it left me in the comforting darkness.
My last coherent thought before yielding to sleep was the faint thrum of mana lines outside my window, the city's nocturnal heartbeat a constant, pulsing reminder that even when I was a wreck, the world kept spinning.
Morning arrived with the cheerful disposition of a plague. I peeled myself out of bed, as my teeth protested when I scraped them with half-dead mana paste, and threw on my university jacket, deliberately avoiding the mirror's judgment.
My reflection, I was sure, looked like a raccoon mourning the loss of its entire family.
Breakfast was the standard fare for the downtrodden: instant ramen, flavored with a generous dollop of self-pity.
Fuck that.
By the time I pushed open my apartment door, the city had switched its aesthetic to "fake golden hour courtesy of the mana sunlamps."
The floating streets of ManaTech District pulsed with activity as drones whizzed by like caffeinated gnats, the vendors hawked charm-infused coffee with the fervor of televangelists, and some idiot on a hoverboard nearly took me out.
Ah, yes, the glorious metropolis where dreams are forged and credit scores are obliterated.
The university courtyard was already a petri dish of student life. Kyle, was leaning against a fountain as if he'd been sculpted from sheer coolness. He was the epitome of the classic dude.
His long coat, and the faint scar bisecting his lip, all that and the annoyingly smug air of someone who'd never had to worry about the cost of mana—he was a solid B-rank knight, breathing down the neck of A-rank. Me? I was still languishing in C-rank.
Pathetic doesn't even begin to cover it.
Beside him, was Sarah who was engrossed in her mana tablet, her short curls bouncing as she muttered to herself, undoubtedly strategizing her next world-saving move. And let me tell you, Sarah? She was insanely hot. The kind of hot that made jocks drool and professors forget their lecture notes.
Not that she was interested in any of them, really. She was their rock, their miracle worker, the badass healer who could patch up a broken bone or a broken spirit with equal flair.
She was, in short, the queen of the locker room, and frankly, a lot of the guys probably fantasized about her mending more than just their battle wounds.
"Leon, my man!" Kyle's voice boomed, his grin as wide as his ego. "You look like you went ten rounds with a storm elemental and lost."
"Close," I retorted, as I stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Fought insomnia. It's winning the war."
Sarah's head snapped up, and her brow furrowed with genuine concern.
She had that frightening ability to scan you and pinpoint your exact level of fucked-up-ness. "You didn't overdo it with the mana channeling again, did you? You look like a dried-up husk."
"I'm fine," I lied, because admitting my constant struggle with the System felt like admitting defeat. "Just a rough night. System stuff."
For some reason, Sarah sounded different from when I asked her to lend me some points.
Nah, didn't matter, make she got a chance to actually heal that 'venomous tongue' of hers.
Kyle let out a low chuckle; it was like a sound that vibrated with the effortless charm of a man who'd never known a single hardship—cause apparently, he never did.
"Ah, the ol' System grind. How's that treating you? Still waiting for that 'Get Rich, Get Laid' update to drop?"
"More like 'Get Broke, Get Trauma Sprinkles'," I muttered, the words laced with the bitter tang of my reality.
Sarah managed a small, sympathetic smile, but it quickly faded. "Speaking of government bullshit, did you see the latest proposal? They're trying to privatize mana flow again. It's going to absolutely hammer the lower districts."
I let out a dramatic groan. "Again? Seriously? They pull this stunt every damn quarter. Some fat cat bribes someone, the poor get fucked, and then we all pretend to be shocked. It's cyclical obstruction."
Kyle's jaw tightened. "And Dean Caster will probably use today's orientation to spin it. All about 'responsibility' and' discipline' while he's sitting on his mana-crystal throne, counting his illicit gains."
We exchanged a look, which was a silent salute of the shared frustration that no amount of caffeine could ever truly quell.
The courtyard bell tolled, its deep, resonant chime marking the transition to morning lectures.
"Come on," Sarah said, hanging her bag over her shoulder. "Dean Caster's already got that bloodthirsty look in his eyes. He'll atomize anyone who dares to be late."
Kyle stretched, a languid, cat-like movement. "Guess it's time to pretend to give a shit about Runic Econometrics. My dick's going to need a serious boost after this."
As we fell into step, the flow of students around us became a torrent.
Uniforms, tailored and crisp, brushed past as conversations about System upgrades and latest mana-modifications filled the air, sounding disturbingly like gossip about the latest smartphone release.
I was midway through a rant about the ever-escalating tuition fees when it happened.
[ Ping! ]
A golden flash, sharp and intrusive, snagged my peripheral vision.
[ New Mission Available. ]
[ Category:Unassigned Emotional Resonance Detected. ]
[ Tracking Source… ]
[ Target Within 10 Meters. ]
I froze, my lungs were seizing. The world around me seemed to stutter.
Sarah, already a few steps ahead, turned. "Leon? You alright?"
But my eyes weren't on her. They were locked onto the faint, pulsating gold text hovering just behind Kyle's dismissive shrug – a cryptic harbinger of… something.
[ Target: Classified. Initiating Observation Protocol. ]
The low hum of the ambient mana field seemed to intensify, and from somewhere deep within my own mind, Nova's voice whispered, it was like a silken caress that sent a shiver down my spine.
It was low, intimate, and laced with a dangerous promise.
"You're about to meet your next connection, Leon."
Then, with a flicker, the golden light winked out — leaving me in the buzzing silence of the courtyard.
I sighed, low and defeated.
"Fuck my life," I muttered.