Baku

It was a cold night.

A moon so large it seemed ready to fall from the sky. Shooting stars trailed behind like droplets of night dew. A snow-pale light crept into the marrow of the night and drained it cold. Such was the night.

Suddenly, a shadow drifted across the moonlit night. The view shuddered with a deep rumble, and the ground wavered beneath in every direction.

A great Beast writhed through the shadows, dragging darkness behind it. Slowly, it turned its gaze to the figures crawling across the earth.

Among them were several motionless forms—and three who still moved.

One had been torn apart, reduced to a mass of flesh and shattered limbs. From the amount of blood and meat, it must once have been two grown adults.

Another stood barely upright, clad in black, bracing themselves with a spear that now served more as a crutch than a weapon. Their legs trembled beneath them.

Smaller than the mangled flesh, smaller even than the man in black, there was something smaller still.

Two children. A girl with black hair, and a boy with the same dark hair.

The boy had collapsed to the ground, staring up at the Beast in blank disbelief, as if trying to understand what it was.

Behind him, the girl stood. Of everyone present, she alone remained on her feet.

Moonlight glinted in her eyes. The Beast, taking it as a challenge, opened its jaws with a snap.

Raaahhhhhhhh!

The figure in black let out a battle cry, raising their spear to shield the boy and girl. They thrust the blade toward the approaching Beast.

The Beast let out a roar. It shook the night and sent a shiver through the skin—a sound that was no longer just noise, but raw force.

A sharp snap echoed out. The spear had broken, splintering in front of the Beast.

No . . . no, no . . . help me!

Along with the spear, the will of the figure in black snapped. Crawling away, their retreating back grew smaller and smaller.

Ah. So this was fear—pure fear. Abandoned, the boy finally understood.

The girl turned to look back, even as fear loomed over her. She stared at the boy with wise, gentle eyes.

In those last few seconds she remained a girl, only the movement of her lips was burned deeply into his mind.

Hey, Toya . . .

That voice, which never reached him, still drifted through the void. He dreamed that dream again and again.

What a cruel dream. A cold nightmare. He gently closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't have to see it tonight.

And as he drifted into sleep, the signal came once more, from nowhere and everywhere at once.

And now, to all of you—pleasant dreams.

Uh, hello? Hello?

Static crackled from the headset, and through it, a voice pushed its way in.

If you can hear me, answer nice and loud—ready, go! Ready to work another night shift?

Three new voices chimed in to answer, sighing into the silence of the sleeping city.

You teenagers have no spirit!

The first voice snapped back—a woman, probably a seasoned office worker, clearly used to the scene. Static still buzzed through the connection.

I mean, we had to finish that stupid operations plan right before this . . . I'm not used to that kinda stuff . . .

I almost fell asleep before the job even started . . . Totally wrecked my rhythm. I hate annoying prep work.

Both replies came from women. One sighed wearily; the other grumbled in a sharp, fed-up tone.

The first woman cleared her throat, then pitched her voice up a few notches.

I went out of my way to land you all a monster gig. They say a little suffering while you're young builds character, right? You should be thanking me—not complaining!

Aww! What unwanted meddling! I thought I could take it easy tonight!

Renka is seriously hyped tonight . . .

While listening to the chatter between the three women, he reflected on how he'd ended up here.

The summons had come before the sun was down. He'd noticed it was earlier than usual, but still headed to the lobby—that had sealed his fate. Normally, they'd be briefed and deployed on the spot. But this time, just writing up the mountain of paperwork dragged things out until the sun had disappeared behind the skyline. The job was from a brand-new client, which meant extra forms and signatures.

What's wrong, Rumisaki? The comms check is useless if you stay quiet.

The voice called him back. To him, it sounded more like: "Got something to gripe about? Now's your chance to say it."

Ah, sorry. I got curious seeing you use a name stamp for the first time . . . So they do make stamps for unusual surnames like Saizune.

Custom order. You'll get it—soon enough, you'll feel that sting when your name's never on the shelf.

Yeah . . . that's not really something I want to learn.

Don't want to grow up, huh? Then what'll you do, move to some fantasy land?

I don't even have a passport.

If there's a place you truly want to reach, then toss everything aside and swim for it—before that urge slips away. Now then. Right on schedule. Comms check: all clear.

The voice of the office worker—Renka Saizune—dropped lower. The mood over the headset changed as well—subtle, but unmistakable.

All units, status report. Uruka Makihana.

Yes ma'am! Moving to position, ETA five minutes! I'll wrap this up quick!

The girl called Uruka Makihana answered in a voice that practically bounced.

Yomi Natogami, how are things on your end?

Mmh . . . Still not fully warmed up, but I'm good enough for now.

Next came Yomi Natogami, reporting her condition in a slow, easygoing voice.

Good . . . And finally, Toya Rumisaki.

He heard his name—Toya Rumisaki—spoken with a clipped tone. He savored it silently, as if biting down on the words.

You're the leader. Same tight-knit trio. Just handle it like always. Think you're good?

Yeah, I've got it covered. It's work, after all.

Excellent. Also, tonight happens to be the first day on duty for our newly assigned controllers. Show them what we're all about.

You want me training people now? Well, I suppose . . . I'll see what I can do.

Ugh, spare me. Don't use corporate buzzwords like 'see what I can do' when you're still a kid.

Renka's voice cut him off flat. He gave a small shrug and stepped out from the shadow of the building.

The moon lit him like stage lighting, casting him in full view.

He wore a black uniform, top and bottom, with a necktie at his collar, and decorative cords adorning his chest. His left arm was hidden beneath a cloak slung unevenly over one shoulder, and the emblem of the company gleamed on his cap. It was combat gear—cut and styled like a military uniform.

I'll go in first, per the operation plan. Uruka, once you reach the point, start observation and apply pressure. Yomi, you're on mobile support.

Toya, if you don't dash ahead, I'm gonna clear them all out before you even get there!

Ugh . . . mobile support just means helping out wherever it sucks the most . . . Don't screw up, you two. Make my life easy.

Once the final checks were done, a burst of static crackled—and Renka's voice came through again.

All right, everyone. As members of Mugen SW, I expect a professional performance—engage.

*** Fourteenth Floor, Office Building ***

>>> Year 9 of the Raika Era. Natozakai City, Mugen Security Works Headquarters. Control room. <<<

This was the Far East—a regional city in an island nation that had adopted a new era name not long after the start of the twenty-first century.

In the center of the dimly lit space known as the control room, Renka sat with her legs crossed, brushing her hair back from one ear. Her chestnut hair, long and perfectly permed, danced through the air. The scent of perfume followed.

Renka Saizune was twenty-six. With her sharp features and the youthful air of a college student, it was hard for most to believe she'd already climbed to the level of department head.

Mugen Security Works was a comprehensive security firm headquartered in Natozakai City . . . It was reasonably well-known, and among its various divisions, the one Renka commanded handled especially unusual operations.

Renka lit a slim cigarette. The ember at its tip glowed like a firefly, flickering in time with her breath.

The control room was dim, lit only by indirect light. The red standby lights of the servers. The green waveforms pulsing from the oscilloscopes. The cold, white backlights of analog instruments. And beyond the wall of monitors, endless static, shifting in silent chaos.

All right . . . let's review the details of tonight's assignment.

Renka casually flipped through the dispatch form in her hand.

Main objective: to eliminate the Noise that appeared in the target area. The exchange station says someone broke through a portal in the forcefield and released it. The Police Bureau has already detained that troublemaker. So our task is cleanup. Basically pest control.

Her tone didn't shift once, even as the content got darker.

The exchange center's cut off public access, but a few unlucky civilians still got caught in it. Twenty-three people hospitalized. Hopefully the doctors aren't collapsing from overwork too.

Civilian casualties were nothing new. The dozen or so controllers seated at their monitors didn't react. They just kept operating their equipment, faces unreadable.

And as for the site of the incident—well, I suppose we should call it a "space." The housing unit for the artificial brain generating it is named Hitomi. The perpetrator's goal was to disrupt a diplomatic event scheduled for next week. The one with the British ambassador. Word is, they were planning to hit the consulate. It's a serious case. One wrong move and we could have an international scandal on our hands. How about it, everyone? Getting exciting, isn't it?

Tension swept through the control room at Renka's words.

Everyone sensed it—this mission wasn't going to end cleanly.

Hey, Renka! I've reached the point!

A voice rang out over the speakers—jarringly cheerful for the situation.

Uruka Makihana, one of the three-person field team, popped up on a monitor just as one of the rookie operators finished pulling up the live feed. Onscreen, she bounced playfully and waved.

Yoo-hoo! Are you watching?

The combat gear, styled like a military uniform, was meant to command authority. On Uruka, with her auburn bob pinned back with a clip, it had no such effect. Without regulation pants, she'd opted for a pleated mini skirt and thick tights—an outfit that made the whole uniform look more like cosplay.

And behind Uruka, in the footage on screen, was the unmistakable background of this Mugen SW control room.

But in reality, the girl in cosplay was nowhere to be seen.

The live feed was clearly from this very floor. Yet even when the new controller turned around to confirm the location with their own eyes, Uruka was nowhere in sight.

Artificial brain Series Unit One—Hitomi. It was designed for businessmen and seniors who dislike the disconnect between awakespace and somnispace. So yeah, the building exists over there too. Same structure, same layout. Two identical worlds stacked over each other, separated by awareness. Confusing stuff.

Artificial brains—formal designation: somnispace field accumulation devices—were massive simulation computing devices installed in management facilities called exchange stations. About the size of a two-story convenience store they were metal shells packed with fine glass piping. Within flowed conductive fluid and pulsed signals, mimicking and amplifying the functions of the human brain. They were, in short, dream machines.

Nearly fifty years had passed since the first direct observation of what was once only theoretical: the Sea of the Collective Unconscious, a hyper-individual sensory domain said to exist deep within the human mind.

Fantasy had become technology. Individual dreams could now connect to the machine's shared dream, allowing people to speak, touch, exchange information, and participate in society—even in sleep. Information gained in dreams could be output into reality, and real-world results re-input into dreams.

The days of sleep-related economic loss—once a third of every human life—were over.

This was life in the modern world: A society built on the use of the shared dream realm known as the somnispace.

To enter the space, one needed a device called a somnispace machine.

Renka turned her gaze toward the corner of the control room. A low, humming echoed from the coils of the machine.

There, resting quietly, was a machine bed that resembled a CT scanner—the somnispace machine. Lying asleep on top of it were three students in uniform: Toya, Yomi, and Uruka.

From the other side of the monitor, Uruka's voice called out to Renka and the others.

Renka! Mind if I start from here? It's totally fine, right?

It was the kind of vague phrasing that ignored who, what, or how. Several of the controllers furrowed their brows.

No one was quite sure what Uruka was trying to say, but something about it gave them all a bad feeling.

That's the optimal position, is it?

Yep. But there's a wall in the way. And there are no windows either.

Uruka gave a firm nod.

Hmm, I see. Hang on.

Renka glanced away from the monitor and addressed one of the senior controllers managing the observation equipment.

Has Makihana been issued object destruction authorization?

The senior operator kept his eyes fixed on the waveform display—and raised a silent thumbs-up.

Renka returned the gesture with a grin and a thumbs-up of her own.

So the wall's in the way, huh? Guess that leaves us with just one option, doesn't it?

Wait—

That's bad—

Stop—

The rookies choked on their words, throats tight with panic.

That contract we spent ages on . . . page fifty-nine, special provision six: "Our company shall bear no responsibility for damages to the somnispace caused by uncontrollable events during anti-Noise combat." So we're covered. Do it, Uruka!

Renka's raised thumb snapped downward.

Boooom!

A deafening blast rang out. Uruka had detonated a compact explosive she'd been carrying, blowing apart the blowing up the control room in somnispace. What had been a perfect replica of awakespace control room now had a massive hole in the wall, moonlight pouring through it.

The newly assigned controllers turned pale.

W-wait, wait, wait . . . ! Chief Saizune?! What are we going to do about this?! Deliberate destruction of somnispace can carry the same penalties as damaging physical property—

Don't worry about it. I'll take full responsibility.

Renka's tone was serious and filled with fierce determination. Even the flustered newcomer found himself clamping his mouth shut.

She stood up from the central chair, her heels clicking as she stepped forward and turned to face the room.

Machines can be fixed. All it takes is money.

Click, clack. She set her feet apart, confident and steady, the hem of her shortened skirt swaying above long, straight legs.

If it's something human hands can fix, we can take all the time we need.

With practiced ease, she drew a fresh cigarette and lit it with a graceful flick.

Let anyone who wants to whine about costs or consequences go ahead and whine. Our job is to protect people’s hearts.

Renka's deep crimson eyes flashed with resolve.

From here on, this is our domain—the Mugen SW Operations Division, Noise Special Affairs Team.

*** Somnispace ***

>>> Artificial Brain Hitomi. Connection status: General users—0. Users with object destruction authorization—3. <<<

Oops . . . I think I went a little overboard.

Peeking out from behind a chunk of debris, Uruka Makihana stuck out her tongue at the shattered remains of the control room.

Well, whatever. It's just a dream.

She brushed dust off her shoulders and stepped up to the gaping hole now yawning open on the fourteenth floor.

Ooh, what a view!

Forming a square with her thumbs and forefingers, she peered through it like a camera frame, taking in the dreamscape beyond. Satisfied with the location, she reached up and tapped her headset.

Renka! All good here! Gimme a rifle, please!

The words came out of her mouth like they belonged to some harmless little critter—though their content was anything but.

Hmm . . . any model specifications?

Back in awakespace, Renka's voice responded with cool indifference.

Yes ma'am! The usual. The Uruka Special.

Still clinging to that? Automatics these days have crazy precision, you know.

No way! A lady sticks with bolt-action. Period!

Yeah, yeah, got it. Logic coil, signal pattern modulation. Adjusting logic coils, signal modulation in progress. Amplifying object destruction authority, adding logical reinforcement, pulling weapon data . . . Hitomi dear, we're requesting firearm import authorization into the dream . . . Bypassing world regulations—complete. Rifle incoming through the gate in five seconds. Get ready.

Exactly five seconds later, the cloak covering Uruka's left arm began to shift and rustle.

A long-barreled sniper rifle slowly emerged, the muzzle slipping free from under the fabric. It was longer than her entire arm, outfitted with a night-scope for accuracy in low light—custom-made for nocturnal sniping.

Dreams might feel limitless, but they weren't lawless. Somnispace, a shared artificial environment used by tens of thousands at once, was strictly governed by the artificial brain that controlled it. You couldn't just destroy the world's structures, nor smuggle in weapons imagined for that purpose. The use of backdoor access—so-called "under-the-table" methods—was restricted to government-certified specialists like Mugen SW.

All right, it's time for Super Heroine Uruka to watch her teammates' backs!

Muttering as if on reflex, she dropped prone beside the wall with rifle in hand. She began fastening a few small devices—one near her left ear, the other at the base of her sternum.

Well then! Comms are down, so while I've got the chance . . . let's sneak a peek at Toya over at the front lines.

She deployed the built-in bipod and rested the base of the long rifle against the joint of her shoulder. Her finger hovered gently over the trigger. She dropped prone, legs spread in a clean "V" shape, her body fully stabilized.

Her voice might have been playful, but her posture was all business. There was no mistaking it—Uruka Makihana was a seasoned sniper.

The moment she looked through the scope, her expression went blank. Every trace of her usual mischief vanished.

And there, in the far distance of her magnified view . . . she saw them.

Targets acquired. Three hundred meters south-southeast. Three Slug Balls and one Slow Runner.

What Uruka saw were black entities. Pitch-black aberrations darker than the eternal night itself.

Three of them tumbled along the road—amorphous creatures twisted into rolling balls, writhing with tentacles and limbs. The last one looked vaguely human, but misshapen, lopsided. Off in all the wrong ways.

These were Noise—manifestations of nightmares that had infiltrated the artificial dream world and given shape.

Good, you found them right away. Ugh, disgusting . . . still rocking that mentally scarring aesthetic, huh?

If your head's not screwed on tight, just looking at those things would make you dizzy. And if one of them attacks you and starts corrupting your mind . . . yeah, straight to the psych ward. No question.

By the way, uh . . . whose dream are those supposed to be again?

The communicator crackled again.

Huh?

Renka tilted her head, puzzled—until the team leader's voice chimed in over the comms to help her out.

Slug Balls are Case/E-020, Slow Runners are Case/C-015.

Ah, right . . . Could you please stop calling Noise by your personal 'Uruka Classification System'?

But numbers are so boring! I can't remember all those codes—this is way easier!

Uruka's voice turned cheerful the moment she pulled away from the scope, her protest loud and clear.

I can't run threat assessments if I don’t know what you’re talking about . . . Matching with the database now. Routing the rest to each operator.

As soon as Renka finished, the comms buzzed and switched channels. The controllers' voices followed.

Copy that. Slug Ball—corrosion index 3. Minimal aggression. Recommend close-range elimination by Toya Rumisaki.

Slow Runner—corrosion index 5. Aggressive behavior detected. Recommend sniping by Uruka Makihana.

There you have it, Toya! Have fun mopping up the small fry!

Just don't hit me, okay?

Hm? Is that your way of asking me to hit you? You want a love shot? Straight to that fluttering heart of yours?

Knock it off and keep your eye on the target. I’m relying on you.

Yes, sir!

She waited until she heard her teammate's footsteps break into a run. Then, she fell silent—no smile, no chatter—and turned her eye back to the scope.

Uruka Makihana, the target is moving out of range. It'll exceed four hundred meters. Do you require targeting assistance?

The woman in charge of Uruka's support called out from the control room. But . . .

Whoooooo . . .

The voice never reached her. Uruka had already powered down her headset.

Exhaling slowly, she emptied her lungs of unnecessary air. Every muscle in her body relaxed, slack but controlled. In the scope, she tracked the Slow Runner as it staggered along—four hundred meters out and drifting farther.

Long-range sniping was all physics. Wind was just the start—temperature, humidity, air resistance, gravity . . . a thousand tiny factors bent the bullet off course. To land a shot, you had to calculate that drift precisely—then aim off the mark, letting the variables do the rest. Only then would the bullet reach its target.

But Uruka . . . She never moved her crosshairs. She held the target at center. Aiming where she knew it would miss.

Thump, thump . . .

I hate wind . . . because it makes bullets drift.

I hate air resistance too . . . because it slows bullets down.

Thump, thump . . . Thump, thump . . .

And gravity, I really hate gravity . . . because it makes bullets drop.

Even her murmuring stopped. And then, she held her breath.

Breathing is also a hindrance . . . because it makes the body move.

The steady sound in her left ear wasn't her imagination. It came from the device clipped to her sternum—like a stethoscope, relaying her own heartbeat. Which meant . . .

If my heartbeat gets in the way of the shot . . . Then even that has to go.

Uruka Makihana, autonomic disruption detected. Heartbeat stopped.

Counter-corrosion index rising to 5. Computational intervention in somnispace confirmed. Estimated effect duration: 0.5 seconds.

World regulation manipulation initiated. Physical constants within space will be altered—

Boom!

A single gunshot rang out. Long echoes reverberated through the empty cityscape.

Whew . . . phew!

Eventually, Uruka raised her head and drew in a deep breath. The sensor on her chest picked up her heartbeat once again.

Downrange, at the end of a shot that should have missed, the Slow Runner dissolved into mist—its head obliterated by a perfect snipe. The bullet had flown dead straight, undisturbed by the gusts between buildings, by drag, even by gravity itself.

How's that for a magic bullet! Hahaha!

That supernatural ability was the product of her unique constitution—a hyper-developed autonomic system that allowed her to control even her own heartbeat. Counter corrosion was the act of bending the laws imposed on the individual world of somnispace and then twisting the dream built by machines into whatever reality she chose.

For just a brief moment, she could nullify the physical forces that disrupted a bullet's trajectory. That was Uruka Makihana's somnibility and the reason Renka Saizune had scouted her.

Ruka . . . Uruka, respond. What's your status? Target's down on my end.

The moment Uruka—fresh off her successful snipe—switched her comms back on, she heard Toya's voice in her right ear.

Hehehe, Toya! All clean and tidy!

I see. You weren't answering, so I was starting to worry. Glad you're safe.

Hearing that, a goofy grin spread across Uruka's face.

Wait, what? Toya, were you actually worried about me? Aww, you must really care! I don't know what to do with myself! Ahaha!

Swinging her rifle over her shoulder, she danced a little on the spot, giddy with energy.

Still, I've got to hand it to you. Even with the comms off, you spotted the second one at your feet through the scope.

Ahahaha! Ahaha, aha . . . wait, what?

Uruka's breath caught in her throat.

She felt the blood drain from her head, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. Oh great, and I didn't even bring deodorant . . . she thought, mentally retreating into denial even here, inside a dream. Uruka Makihana was sixteen years old—a high school freshman.

Splat. A misshapen hand slapped against the rim of the broken wall—something was crawling up from the side of the building. She froze, every muscle locking in place.

And when she looked down at her feet, Uruka found herself locking eyes with a second Slow Runner.

Aoooh . . . !

The pitch-black Noise opened its mouth and let out a resentful groan.

Gyaaaaah!

Uruka's eyes filled with tears as she screamed.

Oh?

Something tore past the air in front of Uruka's face at incredible speed.

The Slow Runner tore its gaze away from Uruka and instantly spun toward source of the movement.

Somehow I had a feeling you would screw up tonight—

Head-down, falling fast, a tall girl plummeted straight past Uruka and vanished below.

A beat later—thud—the impact echoed up from the ground. Uruka leaned out over the edge to look down, and locked eyes with the girl, who had landed perfectly on both feet without a scratch.

She wore a combat uniform with a long skirt split high up the side. Her asymmetrical hairstyle stood out even more thanks to its striking silver dye. Combined with her tall stature and ever-present deadpan glare, she gave off a thoroughly unapproachable aura.

Y-Yomi . . .

Uruka's other teammate, Yomi Natogami, was the kind of girl who did things her own way.

She didn't respond to Uruka's call. She simply looked up with her signature dead-eyed stare. Then, with a pop of her swollen bubble gum, she took off running, drawing the Slow Runner with her.

Over comms, Toya's voice came through—he had long since instructed Yomi to provide cover for Uruka.

Uruka. By the way, when you said "let's sneak a peek at Toya over at the front lines," your comms were still on. Don't peek.

Yes . . . my bad.

It looked like she'd be keeping her head down for a while. As she counted the twinkling stars in the dream-world night sky, Uruka could only sigh.

Yomi Natogami. We've lost your position. Please report your current location.

The soft voice of a rookie controller reached her ears, accompanied by the sound of the wind.

Moving north along the ring road. Just passed the Third Shopping District arcade entrance.

Copy that. Visual reacquired.

Okay.

Light on her feet, Yomi Natogami raced through the empty roadway, her powerful legs carrying her across the pavement in rhythmic strides.

It had only been a few minutes since she'd practically attempted suicide by jumping off of a rooftop. Her outlandish hair trailed behind her, and her eyes—still fixed in that same flat stare she'd given Uruka—hadn't changed. She didn't talk much, which only made her look more annoyed than she actually was.

Message from Uruka Makihana: "Sorry about that. Please don't make that scary face."

Hmm . . . I'm not even mad though . . .

Still wearing her usual dead-eyed look, Yomi tilted her head and blew another bubble.

I scared Uruka again . . . Sorry. I've just got this kind of face by default . . .

Ah . . . We'll handle the follow-up with Uruka Makihana on our end.

The rookie controller's voice was professional but gentle, letting a hint of concern slip through.

Okay.

Still . . . that thing is persistent.

She kept running, her pace light and rhythmic, even as she glanced over her shoulder.

Aoooh, aoooh . . .

Behind her, that same low moaning had been echoing for a while now.

Case/C-015—what Uruka had called a Slow Runner. A distorted doll-like Noise, its mismatched limbs swinging loosely as it chased after her.

Yes, chased. Despite its sluggish, stumbling movements—true to its nickname—it stayed locked onto her. No matter how fast Yomi ran, the Slow Runner remained about twenty meters behind her, never closing the gap, never falling behind.

Slow Runners exhibit reactive pursuit behavior within a radius of approximately thirty meters. Once locked on, evading them through ordinary means becomes extremely difficult. According to the association's combat statistics, their melee win ratio is three wins to three hundred forty-nine losses . . . Yomi Natogami, your situation is extremely dangerous.

Hmm . . . almost there though . . .

Murmuring to herself with mild concern, Yomi kicked her pace up another notch. Her powerful strides widened the gap between her and the Slow Runner in an instant. As she neared the thirty-meter range the rookie controller had mentioned—

Aoooh . . .

Groan . . . The air thickened. No, it wasn't just dense. It was heavy.

The air clung to her like glue, sapping Yomi's momentum. Her legs refused to move freely and her steps grew sluggish. Even the ground beneath her started to slip, as if coated in oil. Moving forward just a single step took over ten seconds of struggle.

Before she knew it, the Slow Runner had closed the distance to ten meters behind her. The air suddenly lightened again, and Yomi broke back into a run. It was the same pattern—chase, drag, release—one she'd already repeated countless times.

Once it locked on, escape was impossible. That's why long-range elimination was always the preferred option.

Even in a dream, the mind could feel fatigue. She was being forced into a slow, grinding war of attrition—and the odds were completely against her.

And of course, it couldn't last forever.

Gnnnnyaaaahhh!

The air thickened again—this time with crushing force. The viscosity wrapped around Yomi like syrup turned to gel, clinging to her limbs, her body, her lungs. She couldn't run, couldn't walk—she could barely breathe. It was like the air itself had turned solid.

Aooooooohhhhh!

Splat. The Slow Runner grabbed Yomi. From behind, it locked its arms around her in a tight, crushing embrace.

Yomi!

The rookie controller's voice cracked with panic.

Ugh . . . just a little . . . more . . .

Yomi groaned through clenched teeth as the Slow Runner tightened its grip.

A wave of unspeakable revulsion flowed into Yomi's consciousness, like she was being wrapped in the limbs of a giant octopus.

Slow Runner corrosion detected! Mental load rising! Subject is in the risk zone for somniosis!

The rookie's voice rose sharply, her worry bleeding through.

No, it's over . . . She's already won.

There wasn't even a trace of unease in Renka's voice.

It's okay. My warm-up's finished. I think I'm going to have a really good dream now.

Yomi's voice rang out. Then the Slow Runner's body twisted with a wet snap.

The misshapen limbs wrapped around her stretched unnaturally in one direction, like something being unraveled.

Yomi was running again.

The Slow Runner's corrosion index is only 5 . . . Do you know what Yomi's index is when converted to Noise scale? It's a 7.

Renka explained it matter-of-factly to the new controller, who was clearly struggling to grasp what was happening.

Counter-corrosion index 7—the power to distort the artificial brain's world regulations. Statistically, that level of mutation only appears in one out of every hundred thousand. And unlike Uruka, whose ability alters the laws of physics, Yomi's is even rarer: a physical reformation somnibility. You're about to see something incredible. No dream born of a machine can hold back her dream.

Still in the Slow Runner's grasp, Yomi began to accelerate.

More.

Her strides widened. Her jumps grew longer. Her pace picked up. Thud, thud. Each kick off the ground launched her farther, higher.

Her airtime lengthened. She dragged the Slow Runner along with her, its body twisting into increasingly unnatural shapes.

More. More . . . more.

Aoooo!

The Noise's groans had long since turned to screams.

Tonight, I want to dream about flying . . . a dream where where I'm bouncing around like I've got wings.

A twang, like a snapped rubber cord, echoed through the dream world. Then a sudden gust of wind, and a sharp static rustle.

Yomi, where are you?! We've lost your signal again. Sending backup—please report your current position!

The rookie controller's voice was frantic, clearly fearing the worst.

It's over.

Yomi's voice was low and unhurried.

Excuse me?

The Noise is cleared. It's done.

Huh? Um . . . what's your current position?

Along the ring road, in front of the Third Shopping District arcade.

Location reacquired . . . but this is where you passed through earlier. When did you turn back? No, more importantly . . . how did you defeat the Noise . . . ?

I didn't turn back.

In response to the rookie controller's question, Yomi spun her weapon in her hand, drawing circles in the air.

I shook off the Slow Runner, looped around the ring road, and took it down from behind. It felt good to jump, so I did another lap while I was at it.

On the other end, the rookie controller could only stammer in baffled disbelief.

Yomi, unfazed, brushed off her left arm with practiced nonchalance.

Her coat flared up as she moved, revealing a gleam of steel—then click—the soft sound of a drawn blade being sheathed.

In the control room, Renka let out a delighted laugh.

Hahaha! So you can shake off Noise that easily too. Your Lucid Dreams really don't play by any rules, huh?

It was a kind of speed that couldn't exist in awakespace—an almost absurd, hyper-accelerated sprint.

As if simply playing around, she let herself flow with the shape of the world, reshaping her own body in response.

The ability to freely manipulate and enhance the physical specs of your dream-body inside a defined somnispace . . . That was a Lucid Dream. And for Yomi Natogami, it was second nature.

My warm-up took way too long today. Next time I'm gonna have an even more wonderful dream.

She puffed her gum and smiled faintly, the kind of quiet, sleepy smile only a girl who'd just flown through the sky in her dreams could make.