The messages burned themselves into his vision, soundless and absolute.
Before he could even process the words, a nauseating lurch gripped his stomach.
He wasn't thrown—he was moved from his luxurious, futuristic villa and slammed into a new existence.
The sterile white resolved into a vast, empty space, devoid of features, horizon, or any sense of scale.
He found himself sitting on a plush, modern sofa.
He wasn't alone.
Other people—men and women of various ages and appearances—were scattered on identical sofas, their faces mirroring his own confusion, panic, or dawning horror.
"Ah…!
A sweet, pained moan directly beside him snapped him from his stupor.
He looked down.
In the crook of his arm, held close by some unseen force of the transition, was a beautiful young woman with a petite frame and lilac hair.
She was pale, her skin looking soft and almost painfully delicate, as if she might break from a strong touch.
But her eyes…
Yeah, there was a fire in her violet eyes that was hard to extinguish.
Especially now, as they blazed with fury, staring at him with an intensity that made his mere presence feel like a profound violation.
He realized his arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her against him.
She was soft, strangely huggable—a bizarre virtue of luck or cosmic setup in this terrifying situation.
But Akira wasn't indecisive.
The moment he registered the contact and her anger, he released her instantly, his hands coming up in a gesture of peace.
He gently helped her sit upright properly on the sofa cushion, his own expression shifting to one of genuine, if slightly bewildered, concern.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice steady.
The girl was taken aback by the concern. It seemed sincere, not predatory.
She let out a soft, dismissive snort, brushing imaginary lint from her clothes, a motion to reclaim her composure.
"I'm fine," she stated, her voice cool. "Do you have any idea what this place is?"
After all, she knew he wasn't at fault. The culprit was the notification in her own mind, the entity that had kidnapped her.
In an unknown, potentially lethal environment, making an enemy over something as trivial as forced proximity was idiotic.
Better to turn this confused but seemingly decent stranger into an ally—or, if she played her cards right, a subordinate.
Akira was about to answer, to mention the bizarre message, when a new disruption erupted.
"Fuck you! How dare you kidnap me, you jerk!" A burly, red-faced man slammed his meaty fists down on the low table in front of them, making it shudder.
From another sofa, a scrawny guy with thick glasses whimpered, curled into a ball. "Where is this place? Mom, help! Please!"
Near the periphery, a sharp-looking woman in a tailored business suit stood with her arms crossed, her voice cutting through the chaos with impatient authority.
"What is this, some kind of TV show? Very funny. Whoever is in charge, show yourself. I'm a very busy woman."
The vast white space hummed with a low, ambient energy, soaking in the cocktail of fear, anger, and denial from its new, unwilling players.
Unfortunately, to their collective disappointment, no answer came from the void.
After a moment of tense silence, Akira cleared his throat and decided to take charge of the disorganized crowd.
"Alright, everyone. Calm down," he said, his voice carrying easily as he clapped his hands once, a sharp sound in the stillness.
The burly guy, still bristling with aggression, snorted coldly. "Why the hell should I listen to you?"
"Because if you don't," Akira replied, his tone still soft, almost conversational, "you will find yourself very, very troubled, my friend."
The words themselves weren't a shout, but the cold, dead look in his eyes and the sudden, palpable wave of killing intent that rolled off him was unmistakable.
The burly man froze in place. Every instinct in his body—honed from years as a soldier and mercenary—screamed a primal warning.
Do not provoke this man. The consequences will be severe.
The threat wasn't in the volume; it was in the utter, terrifying certainty behind it.
He backed down, reluctantly sinking back onto his sofa, though he maintained a rigid, defiant posture to save face, shooting another cold snort in Akira's direction.
Most of the others watched the exchange with deep frowns, unsettled by how easily the aggressive man had been cowed.
But it worked.
They decided, for now, to listen.
"Good. Now, please try to remember what you heard when you arrived here," Akira instructed, his demeanor shifting back to one of cool command.
The mature woman in the black business suit took the lead. "I remember… a mention of a 'Dimensional Game' and an 'Awakening.' I initially dismissed it as an elaborate prank by a film crew or a rival agency."
She paused, her sharp eyes scanning the endless white expanse around them, a professional assessing an impossible set. "This… is no prank. The capabilities required for this are far beyond any production studio or special effects team. It seems the voice was genuine. We are involved in something that operates outside our world's understanding."
She straightened her jacket, a gesture of reclaiming composure. "In any case, I believe introductions are in order. Perhaps some of you will recognize my surname. I am Yuuki Sakurajima, founder and CEO of the STAR Talent Agency."
The glass guy's eyes lit up with frantic recognition. "You're Mai Sakurajima's mother?! Wow, you're just as stunning as she is! Mrs. Sakurajima! I'm a huge fan! Please, could you get me her autograph?!"
His enthusiasm boiled over into physical impulsivity.
He lunged forward, reaching for her hand with no regard for personal space or decorum.
To the others, it looked less like fandom and more like a feral pounce, a blatant disregard for boundaries.
Instinctively, Yuuki Sakurajima took a sharp step back.
In the same fluid motion, Akira moved, placing himself squarely between her and the advancing fan like an unyielding fortress wall.
SLAP!
A sharp, stinging sound echoed as Akira's hand connected with the man's cheek, not to injure, but to shock him back to his senses.
"Control yourself," Akira said, his voice low and firm. "We are all adults here. Maintain your boundaries. We are not children."
"Creep," the lilac-haired girl muttered from her sofa, her violet eyes flashing with contempt as she looked at the glass-wearing man, clearly feeling her own space had been conceptually violated by his behavior.
Clutching his reddening cheek in stunned disbelief, the man shrank back into the depths of his sofa, all fight and forwardness drained out of him.
He didn't dare utter another word of resistance under Akira's reprimanding gaze.
Order, fragile and enforced, had been established.
Yuuki Sakurajima expressed her gratitude instantly, her professional poise returning. "Thank you, boy. If you ever require assistance in the real world, do not hesitate to come to the STAR Agency. This is my personal card. Show it, and they will make a way for you."
She handed over a sleek, metallic business card—a limited edition design reserved for granting direct, unfettered access to her office, bypassing all standard protocols and appointments.
She gave it to Akira without a moment's hesitation.
Akira simply nodded, accepting the gesture for what it was.
He didn't refuse, stuffing the card into his pocket before turning his attention to the growing group of disoriented people.
"My name is Akira," he stated, his voice calm and carrying easily in the vast space. "Currently a university student and an alumnus of Suuchin Academy. Nice to meet you all."
A light, almost melodic chuckle came from the girl beside him.
"Fufufu… It seems it is my turn, then. I am Arisu Sakayanagi. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, everyone."
Her introduction was neat, simple, and carried an air of practiced elegance.
Next, the burly, agitated man who had slammed the table earlier grunted, crossing his muscular arms. "I'm not saying my real name. Don't know if I can trust any of you fuckers yet. Just know I work as a mercenary. And a killer. Nice to meet you, I guess."
A palpable tension instantly gripped the room.
Everyone except Akira and the burly man himself stiffened, their eyes widening at the blunt, unhinged nature of his introduction.
Finally, the anxious-looking guy with thick glasses stammered, avoiding eye contact with the floor. "I-I'm Tomoya Aki. A third-year high school student. Nice to meet you all."
He shrank back immediately after speaking, his body language screaming a desire to disappear.
Before any further conversation could develop, the same sterile, omnipresent voice from before echoed in all of their minds simultaneously.