Natalia nodded, her tactical mind already working through scenarios. Then she glanced at my desk, where Bartholomew the Immortal Snail was slowly consuming a piece of lettuce in his absurdly expensive terrarium.
"Weâre really doing this, arenât we? Going to war with the VHC."
"Not war. Infiltration. Information gathering. Weâre going to smile, train, and play the part of model students while we dig up every buried secret they donât want found." I pulled her closer. "And when we have enough ammunition..."
"We burn the whole rotten system down and build something better from the ashes."
"Now youâre thinking like a revolutionary."
She laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was bright and genuine and completely at odds with the sedition we were plotting. "My friends would die if they could see me now. Little Miss Perfect, the girl who color-codes her notes and never breaks a rule, planning to investigate the VHC."
"You broke plenty of rules with me."
"Thatâs different. Youâre worth it." She kissed my neck. "Theyâre just corrupt bastards who need to be taken down a peg."
Fair distinction.
A notification buzzed on my phone. I glanced at it.
Emi:
Canât sleep! Too excited for tomorrow! Are you excited??? (áášá)
Natalia saw it too. Her expression shifted, the warmth draining out. "She really likes you."
"I know."
"Youâre going to break her heart."
"Maybe. Or maybe she becomes something more. A true believer. Someone who chooses us with full knowledge of what weâre building."
"Thatâs optimistic."
I typed back a response.
Excited and nervous. Big day tomorrow. Get some rest, Emi. You earned your spot.
Sent.
Natalia watched me, her face unreadable. "Do you actually like her? Or is she just another quest objective?"
The question was a trap. We both knew it.
"I like that sheâs genuine. Sweet. Uncomplicated." I met her eyes. "But sheâs not you. No one is you."
"Smooth."
"True." I pulled her down beside me on the bed. "Youâre my Keystone, Natalia. The foundation of everything Iâm building. Emi is... potential. A maybe. But youâre a certainty."
She softened, curling against my side. "Youâre getting better at this whole âreassuring your psychotic girlfriendâ thing."
"Practice makes perfect."
We lay there in comfortable silence. Outside, New Vein City glittered in the darkness, a million lights hiding a million secrets.
"Satori?"
"Mm?"
"When we win. When weâre standing at the top and everyone who underestimated us is looking up from the dirt..." She traced idle patterns on my chest. "What do you actually want? Power? Fame? Revenge?"
Good question.
What did I want?
Kaelen Leone had wanted survival. Then respect. Then fear.
The original Satori had wanted... what? To not be invisible anymore?
And this version, this chimera?
"I want autonomy." The word felt right. "I want to be strong enough that no one, not the VHC, not the gods, not fate itself, can force me into a role I didnât choose. I want to write my own story, not dance to someone elseâs script."
"Even if that script comes from literal gods?"
I thought of Nel. Apollo. The Audience.
"Especially then."
Natalia smiled. "Good answer." She yawned, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up. "Wake me up at five. We should leave early, beat the rush to the ferry terminal."
"Bossy."
"You like it."
"Unfortunately."
She was asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out. I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling.
The pieces were starting to come together. The VHCâs interest in my father. My motherâs warnings. The monitoring bracelet. The suspicious timing of my viral moment. Seraphina Vanceâs cryptic comments at the Gala.
They knew something about me.
Or they suspected.
Either way, I was being watched. Studied. Used.
And the worst part? I didnât even know what I was yet. The System, the Gacha, the reincarnation, all of it was opaque. Nel gave me just enough to operate, never the full picture.
I was a weapon that didnât know its own caliber.
[Brooding so loud I can hear it from here,]
Nel whispered in my mind.
[Getting cold feet, Protagonist?]
Just thinking.
[Questions lead to existential dread. Existential dread is terrible for ratings.]
Why now?
I asked.
Why make my story go viral right when Veronica Cabana is trying to expose the VHC? If Seraphina wanted me suppressed, she couldâve just... not invited me to the Gala. Not let me test. Made me disappear quietly.
[Maybe she canât,]
Nel said, and there was something almost thoughtful in her tone.
[Youâre not the only one playing a game with incomplete information, Satori. Even gods have rules. Even Presidents have leashes.]
What does that mean?
[It means youâre more interesting than you realize. And interest, in this world, is both a blessing and a curse.]
Before I could press further, Nel went silent.
Typical.
I looked down at Natalia, my beautiful, ambitious, psychotic queen. Sheâd followed me into Hell without hesitation. Was ready to go to war with forces that could erase us both.
And tomorrow, weâd step onto that island and start building an empire from the scraps.
Bartholomew finished his lettuce, leaving a glistening trail across a decorative rock.
"At least someoneâs having a simple night," I muttered.
The snail, immortal and utterly unbothered by the cosmic drama surrounding its existence, began its slow journey toward a piece of cucumber.
Lucky bastard.
I checked my phone one last time.
Emi had sent a goodnight message. A photo of her stuffed bear wearing a tiny NVA uniform sheâd apparently sewn herself.
Mr. Patches is ready for the academy! See you tomorrow, Satori! âĄ
Natalia stirred in her sleep, mumbling something that sounded like my name.
I closed my eyes and let the MYSTICISM trait work its magic, feeling the exhaustion drain away as my body repaired itself at supernatural speed.
Six hours until we left.
Five hours and fifty-nine minutes until Natalia woke up and demanded we go another round before the "dry spell" of dorm life began.
I set a mental timer.
Smiled.
And let the King of the Glass House enjoy his last night of privacy.