The heavy rhythm of the rain hitting Kudo's oversized umbrella was the only soundtrack to our walk. It was a rhythmic, drumming sound that usually helped me tune out the world, but today, the static in my head was too loud. Kudo was mid-sentence, rambling about a new ramen shop that had opened near the station, his voice full of the kind of effortless energy that I usually found exhausting. Today, it was the only thing keeping me from drifting back to the image of Anita standing alone by the school entrance.
"I'm telling you, Shiro, extra chashu for five hundred yen is a steal," Kudo said, shifting the umbrella handle. He was tilted slightly toward me, making sure I stayed dry even if his own left shoulder was getting pelted by the downpour. "You need the protein. Look at you, you're practically transparent. If you keep skipping lunch to grind, you're going to vanish for real."
I stared at the back of my wet sneakers hitting the pavement. "I don't skip lunch. I just don't eat in the cafeteria."
"Same thing, bro. Same thing." Kudo laughed, a bright, booming sound that seemed to cut through the gray mist of the afternoon.
We reached the intersection where our paths split. Kudo lived three blocks toward the residential district, while my apartment was tucked away in a cramped, older building near the commercial zone—a place where no one asked questions and the rent was cheap enough for a high schooler to manage on 'digital' income.
"See ya tomorrow, Shiro. And seriously—bring an umbrella. I can't be your legendary shield every time the sky decides to patch in a thunderstorm." He gave me a mock salute, his grin widening before he turned and headed off into the rain.
I watched him go for a moment, the yellow canopy of his umbrella shrinking into the distance. Kudo was the only 'teammate' I had in a world that felt like a solo-queue nightmare. He didn't know I was the #1 ranked player in Aetheria Online. He didn't know that the 'weird kid' he protected in middle school was a digital god. To him, I was just Shiro—the guy who was too smart for his own good and too quiet for the rest of the world to handle.
The walk the rest of the way was cold. Without the umbrella, I pulled my hoodie up and hurried through the side alleys. By the time I reached my apartment building, my jeans were soaked from the knees down, clinging to my legs with a frigid grip. I climbed the stairs of the dim stairwell, the flickering fluorescent light on the second landing buzzing like a dying insect.
I fumbled with my keys, the metal cold against my numb fingers. The lock clicked, and I stepped inside, the familiar scent of old paper and electronics greeting me. It was a small studio, mostly occupied by my desk and the glowing heart of my existence: my PC.
I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need them. I stripped off the wet uniform, tossing it over a chair, and pulled on a fresh black hoodie. My skin felt tight, a lingering chill from the rain still radiating through my bones. I sat down in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and pressed the power button on the tower.
The fans hummed to life, a low, mechanical purr that signaled the start of my real day. Three monitors flickered, casting a deep violet and blue glow across my face. I watched the boot sequence—the lines of code scrolling faster than a human could read. This was the only place where the 'Vanish' script wasn't a mask. It was the reality.
I logged into Aetheria.
[Welcome back, Vanish.]
The interface bloomed across the center screen. My character was exactly where I'd left him: standing on the jagged cliffside overlooking the 'Obsidian Reach.' The wind in-game whistled through the speakers, a haunting sound that felt more real than the rain outside. I opened my inventory, checking my durability. My twin daggers, 'Ghost-Edge' and 'Silent-Bane,' were at 98%.
I began my routine. Market check. Leaderboard check.
I was still #1. The gap between me and #2, a player named 'Iron-Wall,' was widening. People on the global forums were calling me a 'glitch,' a 'bot,' a 'myth.' I liked it that way. If they thought I wasn't human, they wouldn't look for me in a cramped apartment in Sector 4.
But as I prepared to head toward the 'Void Cathedral' for a solo scouting run, a notification pinged. It wasn't the usual guild invite or a gold-farmer spam. It was a private message.
The envelope icon was a deep, pulsating red. I clicked it.
Sender: [A_N_I_T_A_01]
Subject: [Missing Item]
My breath hitched. I leaned closer to the screen, the blue light stinging my eyes.
"You left before it stopped raining. You should be more careful, Shiro. The 'Vanish' skill doesn't work when you're dripping wet."
I felt a jolt of pure electricity shoot down my spine. This wasn't possible. The game's encryption was military-grade. No one could link an in-game ID to a real-life name unless they were a developer or a high-level hacker. And Anita? The girl who spent her time laughing in the hallways and being the center of attention?
I looked at her character profile. Level 1. No equipment. No achievements. A literal 'Newbie' account.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to type a million things. Who are you? How did you find me? What do you want? But my 'Vanish Mode' habits were too strong. If I replied, I acknowledged her. If I acknowledged her, I gave her power.
I closed the message window and stood up, pacing the small room. The rain was still beating against my window, a frantic, desperate sound. I looked at the dark glass, seeing my own reflection. I looked tired. I looked small.
I sat back down and did the only thing I knew how to do when the world got too close. I hit the 'Search' bar for her ID.
[User A_N_I_T_A_01: Location - Restricted]
[Status: Watching you.]
The 'Status' line wasn't a standard game feature. It was a custom edit. Someone had bypassed the game's core code just to change a single line of text on a Level 1 profile.
"This isn't a glitch," I whispered to the empty room.
I looked back at the screen. My character, the legendary Vanish, was standing still in the digital wind. For the first time in three years, I felt like the one being hunted.
I grabbed my mouse and navigated to the 'Log Out' button, but before I could click it, the chat box at the bottom of the screen scrolled on its own.
[A_N_I_T_A_01]: Don't log off yet. The Loading Screen is finally over, Shiro. Let's play.
The screen didn't flicker. It didn't crash. It just stayed there, the gold text burning into the retinas of my eyes. Outside, the thunder cracked, a deafening sound that shook the floorboards of my apartment. I wasn't invisible anymore. The walls were down. The server was live. And somehow, Anita was the admin of my life.
I reached for my phone, my hand shaking. I didn't know what I was looking for until I saw the reflection in the black screen of the device.
The silver sword keychain—the one I thought I'd lost in the hallway—was sitting right there on my mousepad. I hadn't put it there. Kudo hadn't put it there.
I looked at the door. It was locked. It had been locked since I got home.
I turned back to the monitor. The Level 1 character was now standing right behind my character in the game, her hand resting on my digital shoulder.
"Nice stats," a voice whispered. Not from the speakers.
From the hallway behind me.